


Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind - Treebros

by bologna_virus



Series: Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Christmas Fluff, Depression, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Hanukkah Fluff, Homophobia, Larry Murphy Tries (Dear Evan Hansen), M/M, Medium Burn, Mentions of Suicide, Moderate Petting, Mutual Pining, So Not Quite Slow, The Stove Is Set To 6, They all share 4 brain cells and 2 of them are Alana's, Treebros, basically every single chapter title is a song lyrics and I’m not ashamed of it, dumbassery, fluff for like basically every holiday, mentions of self harm, there's a lot of holiday chapters and i'm absolutely not sorry i'll do it again, well maybe a little ashamed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bologna_virus/pseuds/bologna_virus
Summary: There's an old proverb that says that when something is 'out of sight, out of mind', it means that you forget things that aren't there anymore.That's how I am. Invisible. Unseen, unheard. A face in the crowd. Alone in my own little lifeboat, floating in the sea.I try not to care, I really do. I try not to let it bother me how everyone's gaze slides off of me like water, as if I'm not even there.Except for his.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Series: Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116623
Comments: 30
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1 - "Eyes"

**Wednesday, September 12th**

I feel them before I see them.

A prickle in the back of my neck, a ghost running its fingers over the ridges of my spine.

Eyes.

They're gone when I turn around.

I face the front of the room again, brushing it off as nothing. Just my anxiety making me think someone's staring at me.

Instead of focusing on the Mystery Starer, I watch the whiteboard as Mr. Abdul goes over the syllabus. No one was staring at me, the feeling was nothing more than first week jitters.

A tingling sensation races across the spot where my shoulder blades meet, causing me to hunch them in defense and spin back around in my chair.

Someone definitely was watching me.

But, again, no one was looking at me. I scan the room, looking at these people who I'd never spoken to before. It was my senior year and yet I barely knew these peoples names.

Most of them, sure, I know their names. But what I remembered them for was what they'd done. The girl in my Chemistry class last year who once asked me for the homework. The boy who, in sophomore year, called an upperclassman who'd tripped me an asshole. The girl who reassured me after I'd dropped the ball in Gym a few semesters ago.

"Something wrong, Mr. Hansen?" Mr. Abdul's voice rings out. I'd been turned around for too long.

Now I was definitely being watched. Everyone was looking at me, the secondhand embarrassment of someone getting yelled at spreading around the room like toxic gas.

"N-no! Nothing, uh, sorry," I say, shrinking into my seat in an attempt to disappear. If I only looked at my desk, maybe I could pretend this wasn't happening.

"Hm," he hums. I glance up apologetically, finding him glaring at someone behind me. "Stop goofing off before I move your seat."

I was so stupid. So very stupid. I turn my head around in hopes that he was talking to the Mystery Starer and I could find out who they were. But they weren't looking up anymore.

"Focus!" Mr. Abdul reprimands, and I turn beet red. My heartbeat was louder than his voice, and I want to throw up. To run and never show my face again.

They all hated me now. The whole class. And Mr. Abdul, especially. I had already cemented my spot as someone who interrupted class for stupid reasons, and it was only the first week.

And hour and a half long classes never felt so tedious. I'd spent all of my high school career staring at the clock, and now all I was doing was staring at my desk. If I looked at the clock then I might make eye contact with Mr. Abdul, and I would rather die than that happen.

The only thing that's keeping me from losing me was the fact that _it can't last forever._

And just before it hit forever, the bell rang. I slump in my seat, and grab my bag. Usually I wait for 5 other people to leave before I do. That way I'm not last, and I'm not first. Enough time to get to 4th block without being the first one in class.

But I was too hopeful. Before I could dash out of the room, Mr. Abdul stopped me.

"Mr. Hansen, Mr. Murphy. A word?" He calls, and the hope in me dies.

Murphy? Connor?

I see his shadow stop in the corner of my eye, and I silently prayed that the ground would swallow me whole.

Connor was the boy who'd called the upperclassman an asshole a few years ago. The only time we'd ever interacted. I had tried to make eye contact with him for as long as my anxiety would allow in thanks, but he just stalked away.

Was he the Mystery Starer? Did he even remember what happened in sophomore year? Surely he had forgotten about it. But it had meant everything to me. It still does. It was proof that I had been noticed by someone.

"Care to explain why you were disrupting the class?" Mr. Abdul asks, tapping his foot.

"I wasn't trying to! I-I was just. Looking for something- I guess. And he was there. I'm so sorry," I stutter out, pinching my wrist to stop myself from rambling. It was quiet, so I risked at glance up at him.

He nods at me, and then looks expectantly at Connor, leaning back into his desk in that pose that teachers do to try to establish that they're 'cool' teachers, with rolled up sleeves and stern looks.

"Anything to add, Mr. Murphy?" Connor awkwardly shuffles his feet, tension oozing from his position.

"No," he says roughly, shoes pointed towards to door like he wanted to bolt as fast as possible.

Mr Abdul was silent for a moment and I couldn't find it in myself to look up, instead choosing to look at the patterns in the linoleum tiles.

"Don't let it happen again," he says finally, and my shoulders drop. I nod frantically, and scramble towards the door, terrified of being in the room for any longer.

Only a few stragglers are in the hallway. Everyone in the Lit wing has lunch right now, so they've left as soon as possible.

I wasn't anymore excited to be in the cafeteria than I was in this hallway. Jared would probably make fun of me in an accurate way and then leave for the rest of lunch. That's how it's always gone.

Connor storms past me, and I remember the Mystery Starer. This was my chance to ask if it was him.

"Hey, I. Um," I call out, and he looks back at me, anger in his eyes. I don't think I've ever seen him not angry.

How sad is that, to always be on edge and angry? To never know when you can put your guard down?

"What?" Connor spat out at me, shooting the words like bullets in defense. Of what? I don't know. I was probably the least dangerous thing in the hallway. A scrawny kid with anxiety and sweaty hands isn't exactly a threat.

"U-uh," I stammer, suddenly reminded that I can't ever talk, especially to someone who I'd never spoken to before.

Suddenly, I feel so stupid. What was I even gonna say? 'Hey, are you the person I felt staring at me during class?'.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck do you want?" He hisses, glaring at me. The venom in his voice makes me step back.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just. Were you the one who was... like... during class were you... ya know?" I ask, trying desperately to ignore how stupid I sound.

Connor's eyebrows twitch up, and he looks torn between disbelief and anger.

"Are you fucking delusional or something?" He asks, sounding genuine. I could feel a bead of sweat running down between my shoulder blades, and I reach to grab the fraying edge of my shirt.

"I- no. No. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, forget I said anything," I say, stepping back nervously. The last thing I want is a broken nose.

But instead of beating me up, he just rolls his eyes and stalks off, leaving me alone in the hallway.

**Thursday, September 13th**

Nervous doesn't even begin to cover how I'm feeling. I've already made enemies and the year has barely started. My teacher hates me and so does the boy who stood up for me years ago.

Connor had to be the Mystery Starer, though. World Lit was the only class we share, and it was the only class where I'd felt the eyes.

The question was, why was he staring at me? Maybe he hated me before the incident with Mr. Abdul and in the hallway. Was that why he was looking at me?

It made sense. The only other interaction we'd had, he probably forgot.

My chest tightens. I still have 4 more months until the semester was over. At least then my classes would change. But then I have another 4 months.

I'll have to start writing college applications soon, not to mention my final exams are coming up. But after next semester, what then? College? I have no idea what I would do or where I would go.

Will I even make it to college? If I survived that long, would I be able to make it all 4 years? Or would the stress crush me like a bug?

I was acutely aware of my breathing, forcing each tiny gasp of air into my lungs.

I have nothing to hold onto until then, nothing but the faint hope that magically something will make my life better. Something will give me the motivation to keep pushing.

But the blank cast on my left arm is a constant reminder that I have nothing and no one. No reason to keep me going, nothing to look forward to.

How pathetic am I, on the verge of a panic attack during class?

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, a tall dark figure enters the classroom and I feel my heart sink.

"Mr. Murphy, I've moved your seat. You're sitting in front of Ms. Cole now," Mr. Abdul says, and I risk a glance up. Connor scans the room, eyes briefly snagging onto my own. I look away.

"I don't know who that is," he states, and Mr. Abdul gives him an exasperated look.

"You're next to Mr. Hansen."

I knew it. I knew Mr. Abdul hates me, of course he does. Why else would he make me sit next to someone who probably wants me dead?

"Jesus Christ," Connor mutters, before dropping down in the seat next to me. The panic attack that was building recedes, replaced by overwhelming terror.

The classroom ambience is barely audible over the heartbeat thudding in my ears. I force my chest up and down because even if I am breathing erratically, I don't want Connor to know that.

Painstaking seconds go by. I grasp for control of my breathing and feel it within my reach. Having a panic attack during class would make the start of an already shitty year so much worse. Connor would never let me live it down.

Finally, finally, my breathing comes easy and normal. I almost sigh in relief. This would have been a new low for me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Connor shift slightly. Needles prickle my back and I have to repress a shiver.

He's watching me again.

I can feel his eyes boring into me, drilling a hole in my head. I need to leave, run, look, move, flee. Instead, I wilt under his watchful gaze.

He looks away. I glance at him, only to catch his eye again.

"What?" Connor asks, defensively. I wonder if he's ever relaxed. If his hard edges are ever softened.

"N-nothing. Sorry," I apologize, voice shaky. Scoffing, he looks towards the white board, where Mr. Abdul is projecting text. It's an excerpt from The Odyssey.

I manage to redirect my focus from Connor to the story. Mostly. A small part of me is still waiting the tell-tale sign that someone's watching me.

Unfortunately, when he's finished reading the story out loud to us, Mr. Abdul turns and says one of the worst things teachers can say.

"Please turn to your table partners and discuss the excerpt."

The class descends into chatter, but I freeze. Slowly and carefully, I face Connor. Maybe we can have a normal conversation about the topic without him hating me even more.

Instead, we spend a few moments staring at each other. Neither of us knows how to start. He almost looks more uncomfortable than I feel.

I decide to take initiative and speak.

I take a trembling breath, twisting the edge of my shirt. "Well, uh. I thought that when Odysseus tricked Polydectes by s-"

"It's Polyphemus," he says, quietly. I startle at how gentle he sounds compared to every other time I've heard him speak.

"What?" I ask, and Connor looks up at me, almost shyly, before looking back down at his lap. This was hardly reminiscent of the piercing stares from earlier.

"You said Polydectes. Polydectes was the king of Seriphos. From the story of Perseus. Polyphemus was the cyclops in the Odyssey."

I'm quiet. Quiet long enough that Connor's ears turn pink and he mumbles, "Sorry."

"No, no. It's, uh. Fine. Thank you for correcting me. So, you. Know a lot about Greek mythology?" I ask, hoping that maybe we can start a conversation. As daunting as they are, maybe I can make him not hate me. Or I could even make a friend.

"This isn't fucking 20 questions or an icebreaker," he snarks, and I curl into myself. That's a no for the friend thing, then.

"Right, sorry. Uh. Anyway so I thought that it, um, demonstrated Odysseus's cleverness when he tricked Polyphemus by saying his name was Nobody," I finish, deflated. A small pinprick of hope had sparked inside of me when I had thought we could have a conversation, but Connor had crushed it as to make sure I knew there was no way in hell he would ever be friends with me.

"Yeah, he was smart. Asshole though," he scoffed.

I never learn from my mistakes. That's my problem. Is no matter how many times my fleeting optimism gets stomped out, it still finds a way to light itself.

"Have you, have you read The Odyssey before?" I asked, and instead of answering right away, Connor eyes me warily. Perhaps he's wondering if I'm going to make fun of him. As if I would ever have the balls to make fun of someone.

"Yeah," he says, almost a question. Like he's too scared to commit to an answer.

"What class was it for?" I questioned. Connor shifts uncomfortably, and looks around. He nearly looks ashamed.

"I read it on my own." I knew Connor was a reader. In 8th grade we made collages for the yearbook, and his was of his top 10 favorite books. But I couldn't hide my surprise at him having read such an advanced book. Especially because he seems so familiar with it.

"What? You think I can't fucking read or something?" he snarls, and I shake my head. I had found footing, and I wasn't gonna slip this soon.

"No, not at all. I just, like, was confused. Because that's a school book, isn't it? Like it's one of those things that you read in school so why would someone read it on their own. Like To Kill A Mockingbird," I explain frantically.

"That used to be one of my favorite books," Connor deadpans, and I could feel my heart stop.

"I am so sorry," I whisper, and the strangest thing happens.

He chuckles. A small, short laugh that starts in his chest and ends in his throat, barely a few seconds long.

"It's fine. I know what you mean, I think," he softly says. I duck my head, barely smiling. Maybe he didn't hate me.

"Okay," Mr. Abdul says loudly, clapping to get everyone's attention. "Based on your discussions, what can we conclude about Odysseus?"

He looks around, but no one had raised their hands, or was even looking at him.

"No volunteers, huh? How about..."

Never have I stared harder at the floor in my entire life.

"Table 7. Any comments on the excerpt?" He asks, and I look around to see the poor sap who has to answer in front of the class, only to meet the eyes of everyone. Too late, I take notice of the laminated paper reading '7' in the corner of our table.

Mr. Abdul was staring right at me. Expectantly. Waiting for me to say something.

"I... the, uh... it..." I stammer, bouncing my leg up and down. Everyone was watching me, and I couldn't speak.

"We thought that Odysseus saying his name was Nobody demonstrated how clever he was," Connor speaks up, glancing at me.

"Very good. Table 4, any comments?" Mr. Abdul turns to another group, and relief floods my body. I visibly sag, and Connor looks at me with tired eyes.

"Thank you," I whisper, and a ghost of a smile appears on his face.

"It's nothing," he replies and looks away, ears pink.

Connor Murphy had been kind to me. That was rare. It's not that I didn't believe he had the capacity to be kind, but he seemed so reluctant to show it.

I watch all the other tables answer as Mr. Abdul went around the classroom, until I feel Connor staring at me again. I catch his eye, and offer a shy smile.

"Hey-" I start, not sure where I'm going with this. I'll figure that out as I go, I guess.

"What do you want?" he interrupts. His walls are back up. The smile was too much. I shouldn't have let him know I saw him looking.

"N-nothing, I'm sorry," I backtrack.

"Whatever," Connor sneers, and I sink into my seat. This tentative friendship, or more acquaintanceship, was leaving my head spinning.

**Friday, September 14th**

The tension was even thicker than it was the previous day. I feel bad for putting Connor on the spot like that, and keep sending furtive glances over to gauge how he's feeling. He's a stone wall, as per usual.

"Discuss with your partner about the symbolism behind the excerpt from The Odyssey that we read yesterday. I'll leave the passage on the board if you need to go back and reread it," Mr. Abdul instructs, breaking me out of stupor.

I inwardly groan. Symbolism is the worst thing to ever be created. How am I supposed to know what represents what? That's deeper than I usually want to think.

Connor's looking at me, bored. "So, I guess you don't need to reread it then, huh?" I ask, awkwardly laughing.

My horrible attempt at a joke didn't land, and he stared at me blankly. I snuff my laughter and anxiously twist my fingers.

"Because, like, you've already read it before?" I offer, trying to salvage this.

"Yeah. I got it."

"I'm sorry, that was supposed to be a joke," I mutter. My cheeks burn, and I'm sure they're red. Each class with him gets more and more embarrassing.

"I know," Connor says, voice softer than it was a moment ago. I nod, mostly to myself. Faintly, I think I should speak.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't really think of any symbolism. I know this is supposed to be a 'share your ideas' kinda thing, but I just don't have any ideas. Sorry," I ramble, wanting nothing more than to shove my fist in my mouth. Maybe that would get me to shut up for one second.

Connor thinks for a moment, before looking up at me.

"'Nobody', maybe," he suggests. I blink, processing.

"What?" I ask, and he looks up at me, a mix of emotions brewing behind his eyes.

"There could be something with the whole 'Nobody' thing. Like how Odysseus claims he's Nobody when he actually thinks of himself as hero, which is ironic," he explains.

"That's, that's really smart, yeah. Definitely." I nod, fiddling with the edge of my cast. I'm impressed. Symbolism is one of my tricky subjects, and Connor had thought of it so quickly. Either that or he'd analyzed it on his own, which was equally impressive.

"You don't have to say that. I know it's stupid okay, don't act like it's not," he snaps, eyebrows furrowed. They always were.

"No, no I actually thought that it was an interesting way of putting it. I'd never thought of it like that," I assure, and he eyes me up and down as looking to see if I was lying.

"Oh. Thanks."

Eventually, Mr. Abdul starts calling on people again. Thank god he didn't call on us.

I found myself staring at Connor, instead of vice versa. If he noticed, he didn't say anything.

He always looked so tense. Was his this guarded in his own home? It was hard to imagine him soft.

I study his face for a moment, before realizing how creepy I was and turning away. Thank God Jared wasn't here, or I'd never hear the end of the gay jokes. But it wasn't like that, I was just analyzing him. Wondering.

Mr. Abdul started handing out some note sheets, and I absentmindedly reach for my pencil. As I write down my name, the lead snaps.

Sighing, I root around my bag for another pencil, only to come up empty. Great.

I could get up and sharpen my pencil, but that means getting in front of the entire class and standing there and making so much noise. So I resign myself to not writing notes, and stare longingly at the pencil sharpener.

I hear a small clink on my desk. Connor places a pencil by my paper, avoiding eye contact. I stare at him, shocked.

"Thank you," I whisper, and he just nods.

Maybe I do have a shot at a friend. If I don't screw it up, that is.


	2. Chapter 2: "Wishing and Hoping"

**Thursday, September 20th**

A routine had formed in the days since Connor sat next to me. Something so small, so minuscule, that I wondered if Connor even did it on purpose.

Everyday, as we walked out of the classroom, we'd make fleeting eye contact before walking our separate ways to lunch. I prefer to walk through the courtyard to get to the cafeteria, because the Health classroom doesn't have any windows. So this is my chance to see some sun before dismissal.

So, as per usual, I glanced at Connor before walking down the hallway. I hate walking in school. I have to look up so I don't walk into people, but then I end up making eye contact which is awkward and terrible. I never know what to do with my hands as I walk, and I always think I'm walking weirdly.

I don't understand how people can be okay with making eye contact with others in the hallway. Like this one girl that I've started to notice on my walk to 2nd block. She's always scanning the hallway in search of someone as we pass each other.

Every time I see her, I feel this strangled feeling in my chest. Jealously that she can so easily make eye contact with people. Envy that she clearly has a friend she's looking for.

And maybe a little bit of sadness. Sad that I can't be her. Sad that I don't have that spark, that light. The fire that heats the furnace that we humans are. My fire is nothing but smoldering coals, while everyone else's is a roaring flame.

My walks to lunch aren't always this depressing. Mostly it's just wondering how I'll try not to look as pathetic as possible while I'm sitting alone.

The noise of the cafeteria always overwhelms me. So many different sounds, so many different things going on. I dart over to the table where I usually sit. Sometimes Jared joins me, but never for long.

Today is one of those days, because I hear his footsteps before I see them. He doesn't pull up a chair, which means he won't be here for long. As least I don't look like a total loser with him around.

"How was Lit with Frank Iero?" Jared asks. I stare blankly at him.

"Who?" He chuckles. Not the 'haha my friend said something funny' kind of laugh, but the 'haha my family friend is so fucking stupid and doesn't get the joke' kind of laugh.

"Do you not know who Frank Iero is?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. I reach for my cast, rubbing the plaster.

"I know who Frank Iero is," I lie. I know he's a singer, and pray that Jared won't interrogate me. "But who are you referring to?"

"Connor Murphy, duh," he says.

I'm quiet for a moment. I don't want to indulge in his name calling, because Connor doesn't deserve it. But if I argue, then I'll inevitably get humiliated some more.

"It was alright," I whisper, and Jared smiles smugly.

"Did he show you his list yet?" he asks, leaning in conspiratorially as if this was a private joke, and not an offensive remark.

"He's not gonna shoot up the school," I say, and he leans back, tsking and shaking his head.

"You're either gonna be the first to get shot, or you're gonna get a note the day before that tells you to wear red that way he doesn't shoot you on accident," he cackles, and I muster the courage I need.

"That's not funny. He's actually nice," I insist. Jared just looks at me, a patronizing glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, he seems re-e-e-al nice," he mockingly says, stretching out the 'e'. "Anyway, I have some _actual_ friends to sit with." He stares at me for a beat, this look on his face. A look that lets me know I'll never be one of his 'actual' friends.

I'd never even met his 'real' friends. Never heard their names, never seen proof of the things he's boasted about. I suspected that he was just making them up.

But if he was, that somehow worse than just preferring to hang out with other people. That meant that Jared would rather be by himself than to be seen with me, to have to deal with me.

That hurt. It really, really fucking hurt to constantly be the worst possible option.

"You're an asshole and I'm tired of being pushed around by you."

Is what I want to say, and would say if I wasn't such a pushover.

"See you in Health." Is what I actually say, softly and my head down in shame. Shame at what? My inability to stand up for myself? My inability to stand up for Connor?

I understand why Jared doesn't like me. It hurts, but I understand it. Let's be honest; I don't have any personality, nothing about me that makes a person worth knowing.

I would try and get away from me too if I could.

"Hey," a voice above me says. I startle and whip around, losing my balance on the chair and almost falling face-first into Connor's crotch.

He steps back and I catch myself, face heating up.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm so sorry. Uh. H-hi, Hey," I stammer, staring at the back of my hand. I don't know if I can ever look him in the eye again.

I wait for him to laugh at me, to make fun of me, maybe call me gay. But he just softly shakes his head, a trace of a smile on his face, and points to the chair across from me.

"Is anybody sitting with you?" Connor asks, and I catch myself before my jaw drops in shock.

"Uh. No. Jared was but he usually sits with his other friends, so I don't think he's coming back," I say, nervously laughing and aware of how absolutely pathetic I sound.

Instead of pointing this out, he sits down. Immediately I start freaking out.

I don't know what to say. At all. Ever. Never in my life have I known what to say. Hell, I can barely make it through World Lit with Connor without crumbling from the awkwardness, and now he's sitting next to me for the next 25 minutes with nothing to do but talk.

Silently, I eat my sandwich. Trying not to explode as I'm suddenly viscerally aware of every move I make. Connor just stares at the table.

"Where were you yesterday?" he asks suddenly, and I sit back, surprised.

"I stayed home. Well, I wasn't technically home all day, I went to the synagogue also, but. You weren't asking that you were asking why I wasn't there, right, okay. Uh, it was Yom Kippur. So I had to take the day off. I'm not supposed to go to school that day," I conclude, biting the inside of my cheek to force myself to stop talking.

"Oh," Connor says, taken-aback by the large amount of words I said in a short amount of time.

"Why, did we have something in Lit yesterday?" I ask. Mr. Abdul hadn't told me that I'd missed anything, but maybe he just forgot. Maybe he didn't tell me because, once again, he hated me.

"No, I just- was wondering where you were," he mumbles, eyes flitting towards my face then away again. He doesn't seem to be a big fan of eye contact either.

"Oh." I'm going to explode. I am going to explode and they're gonna to have to scrape me off the floor which is gross and gruesome and humiliating but at least I'll be dead and not here with this boy whom I barely know.

Minutes tick by. I hear Connor tapping his foot. Kids around us are yelling and talking. I finished my sandwich but would rather die than stand up and walk to throw away my trash, so I just put in my lunchbox and pray that I remember to throw it away when I get home.

I should say something. Anything. Casual conversation, just like people do with their friends.

Except that Connor isn't my friend. I know nothing about him except that he's Zoe's brother, and he reads. And he read The Odyssey. Multiple times.

He likes Greek mythology, or at least he knows a lot about it. Probably from reading Percy Jackson when he was younger. He looks like someone who read Percy Jackson. I... actually know a little bit about him.

I think I'd like to know more.

Which means I need to ask more.

"So, what. Um. What's your next period?" I ask, and Connor looks up, confused. Which is fair, I had been quiet for a long time and then suddenly asked him about his schedule which makes me sound weird and creepy. Oh my god, he thinks I'm a stalker now doesn't he?

Or at least I'm trying to be a stalker, because a stalker would already know his schedule.

"Humanities," he replies bluntly, not calling me a stalker.

"Cool," I nod.

"It's really not cool," he snorts, and shakes his head, smiling. I laugh too, nervous at first, until my stomach hurts from how hard I'm laughing and Connor's face is red as he's hunched over and smiling harder than I've ever seen him smile.

His laugh is nice. He sounded like he was trying to quiet it, but it was deep and gleeful. Much better than the light chuckle I got from him last week.

It wasn't that funny. I know it wasn't that funny. He probably knows it wasn't that funny. I wasn't quite sure what we were even laughing at. Connor could be making fun of me right now. But damn if it didn't feel good to laugh.

But then the moment came. That moment when you finish laughing really hard but don't know where to pick up from there so you're sitting in silence.

I hadn't really discovered much about him. I discovered that I really liked is laugh, but that didn't count. I was looking for facts. Proof that he was my friend, because friends know stuff about each other.

"What about you?" Connor asks.

"Hm?" I say, stupidly, clutching onto the hem of my shirt. But he just smiles again. He's been doing that a lot. I like it.

"What's your next class?" he repeats, unfazed.

"I have Health. They made it a required class this year so now I have to take it," I explain, wanting to kick myself. I overshared again. All I needed was a one word answer.

"I took it as a freshman. It's easy as fuck," he says. I nervously laugh, eyes trained on the floor. I hope he didn't find it rude that I barely made eye contact with him.

"Yeah. I was worried that it was just a beginning of year thing and eventually it would get harder," I say, and he scoffs. Not rudely, in a 'you're so stupid' way. But like 'you couldn't be more wrong' way. Friendlier.

"I slept through the entire semester and got an A." I hum, and nod. We fall into silence again, this one slightly less awkward than last time.

Maybe I did have a chance at a real friend. If I didn't screw it up. I try to remind myself that he might actually hate me, but that doesn't stop the fire inside me from igniting when I see him smile at me as we part ways.

**Friday, September 21st**

It's been five minutes since lunch started. I don't think Jared's going to be sitting with me today. Not a relief, but not unwelcome.

Earlier in class, my pencil rolled across the table. I reached for it at the same time as Connor, and the back of our hands brushed. He ripped his hand away so fast the pencil spun out and landed in my lap.

His skin was rough and warm. Which was weird to think about, because why would I be thinking about how someone's hand feels?

So I'm not thinking about how his hand felt when Connor drops down hesitantly across from me.

"Hi," I say, a little surprised.

"Can I sit?" he asks hesitantly. Shy. His mood switches so fast it sometimes gives me whiplash.

"Yeah, yeah definitely," I nod, too eagerly, and he offers a wavering smile. Once again, we don't really say anything. We don't have much to talk about. He still hardly knows me.

"So... how were your classes so far today?" he asks softly.

Technically, my classes were kind of shit. Was I going to say that? No. That might prompt him to ask why and I'd rather die than accidentally overshare again.

"Good," I answer. A solid answer. The chance that someone asks why your day was good after you say 'good' is low, basically zero when that someone is Connor.

"That's good," Connor says, picking at his nail polish. I notice how chipped it was, probably from his scraping at it. I wonder if it's a nervous habit.

A sharp inhale. I look up, confused, to see Connor glaring at me.

What did I do? Can he read my thoughts? Does he know I was thinking about him and now thinks I'm creepy? Because I'm not creepy it's just that I notice too many things.

Before apologies can tumble out of my mouth at the speed of light, I realize that he isn't glaring at me. He's glaring behind me.

"Wow, Acorn. You replaced me already," a familiar voice says from behind me, dripping with apathy and sarcasm.

Jared drops his bag on the seat next to me, but doesn't make a move to sit down. Just pushes his glasses up his nose, crosses his arms, and surveys us smugly.

"Jared, come on-" I start softly, but he either can't hear me or ignores me.

"So, how's it hanging Marilyn Manson?" he asks, callousness poking through his words.

"Shut the fuck up," Connor snaps, leaning forward a bit like he wants bite Jared's head off.

"Ooh, he's feisty. I bet you enjoy that in bed, don't you?" Jared taunts, jabbing an elbow in my side like I'm in on the joke. I don't respond, just wince. I don't look at Connor either.

"Fucking quit it!" He snarls. The words aren't directed at me, but the venom in them makes me shrink into my seat anyway. A hand's grabbing my throat and choking me. That must be why I'm having trouble breathing.

"Calm down, man. I didn't mean anything by it, did I Evan?" They're both looking at me. This is a test. Which one do I choose? The rude family friend, or the angry maybe friend?

I choose both, and neither. "I... I don't know," I mutter, twisting my fingers. I don't know where to look. No where. Everywhere. I can't get air.

"See? No ill-intent here. Go back to smoking weed and crying about your sad life, or whatever else a school shooter does in his spare time," Jared laughs. I'm surprised. He's usually not this relentlessly mean. Just insensitive jokes.

Connor doesn't respond though. I don't have to courage to look up, but the silence sounds scary.

"Jared..." I whisper, looking near him but not at him.

"What? I'm right," he defends.

"N-no. You're not. Connor isn't a school shooter, okay. That's mean," I kind-of-almost harshly say to the table.

"Hansen, don't be growing a spine on me. What's a guy supposed to do when his family friend stops being an invertebrate?" Jared asks. I press my back into my seat, thankful that no ones taken notice to my shaky breathing.

"Leave him the fuck alone, he didn't do anything," Connor loudly warns, standing up abruptly. I flinch. He sounds furious.

"I'm just kidding around. He knows I'm joking," Jared says, huffing out a haughty laugh.

"Yeah, real funny joke," Connor spits out, and I'm practically shaking in my seat. I haven't looked up once, too scared to meet their eyes or to check and see if anyone's watching us. Jared goes quiet for a brief moment.

"Fuck you," he retorts, before grabbing his bag and walking off. The tension in my body releases and I sag down in my chair. Connor cautiously sits down again and looks at me. His eyes are angry, hurt, and worried.

"I'm so sorry, that was so rude of him. You're not a school shooter, and he knows you aren't but he just makes jokes, and they aren't funny, I know they aren't funny. I'm sorry," I apologize. I felt bad that I hadn't defended him.

How hypocritical was I? I despise how Jared treats me, then I let him get away with treating the person I hope to become friends with like that. No wonder I didn't have any friends.

"It's not your fault he's an ass," he shrugs, slouching back down into his seat.

"Yeah, but I could have stopped him," I press, staring down at my lap, disappointed in myself.

"Could you have? Kleinman doesn't really seems like he listens to anyone, let alone you," Connor snorts, shaking his head in amusement. Ouch

"Yeah..." I nervously laugh, scratching the back of my neck. Connor realizes his mistake, and sits up.

"Shit, that was- I didn't mean like that. It came out wrong," he stammers. I smile at him. The nervous look on his face is so familiar, it was like I was looking into a mirror.

"It's fine. I get what you mean though. I could have _tried_ to stop him," I correct myself. Connor either doesn't know what to say or he's scared to say anything, because he doesn't respond.

We fall into silence again. It's better than conversation right now, anyways. I don't look at him until the bell rings.

"Have fun in... Humanities?" I say, trying to engage with him. Damn my bad memory. But it works, and Connor smiles.

"Have fun in Health," he quietly says, before disappearing into the crowd.

I begrudgingly walk to the Health classroom, and slide into my usual seat. Jared's waiting there next to me, like usual.

"Are you done kissing Murphy's ass now? Or should I wait a little bit longer so I don't disturb you two?" he asks, voice too loud for the quiet classroom.

"Shut up, Jared." I don't want to encourage him. Whenever I get flustered he just keeps amping it up until I'm as red as a tomato and two seconds away from a panic attack.

"Next you're gonna request to switch classes so you can give each other handjobs during class," Jared taunts, earning a glare from the teacher. Finally, he stops talking.

**Monday, September 24th**

"So, where's your boyfriend?" Jared asks, sitting down at my table. I shrug.

It's been 10 minutes. Connor hasn't shown up to lunch yet. He was in World Lit, and everything seemed normal. We even had an almost normal conversation about where we would want to visit if we could go anywhere (he said the Petra, I said the Amazon Rainforest).

"He's not my boyfriend. You know that," I sigh. It was fruitless and I knew it. Nothing can stop Jared when he's being an ass.

"Sure. Well, don't worry. I'll leave. Wouldn't want to have to witness whatever kinky shit's gonna go down when he arrives from the drug den," he says with a suggestive and over-exaggerated wink.

"Can you please, just, tone it done. At least in front of Connor? He doesn't think it's funny, and I don't either," I ask. I don't know what caused me to grow a backbone, but I hope it stayed.

"What's got your panties in a twist all of a sudden?" Jared asks, raising an eyebrow. My face heats up.

"No, it's just. You can be a bit much, okay? I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, I just. Can you just be a little bit nicer maybe?" I plead, fidgeting with the cuff of my sleeve.

"Whatever, Acorn. I'll be nicer to your boyfriend," he says, before leaving. To go sit with his other friends, probably.

Maybe that's where Connor went, too. Maybe he has other friends. It seems like everyone has other friends. Everyone but me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not every chapter will be at school or take place over multiple days


	3. Chapter 3: "Keep Coming Back"

**Tuesday, September 25th**

The first thing I hear when I wake up isn't my alarm. Instead, a car horn is blaring outside of my house. I sit up, groggy and disoriented, squinting at the alarmingly bright light shining through my window.

My alarm clock is blinking, flashing 12:00am over and over again. I groan. Now I'd have to restart it. Great.

My hand reaches out, grasping for my phone, discarded on my desk. The car horn is still honking, only now it's to the tune of some vaguely familiar song.

"Fucking kids," I whisper to myself as I unlock my phone to check the time. 7:50. Shit. I missed the bus.

I lurch out of bed, accidentally yanking my phone charger out of the wall. My screen lights up again, and I notice a string of messages from Jared. I read them as I stumble through the hall.

_Jared: my mom told me to drive you to school today_

_Jared: well she didn't tell me but she said "jared i havent heard you talk about evan in a while hows he?"_

_Jared: then I said "hes fine"_

Jared: then she said "maybe you could give him a ride to school today" then gave me this look

Figures. He would never do anything nice for me on purpose unless he's benefiting in some way. I quickly brush my teeth, skimming through his message.

_Jared: im outside_

That must be Jared honking the horn then. I'm a little shocked that he's still here. Not too surprised though. What he wouldn't do for his precious car insurance.

_Jared: hurry the fuck up_

_Jared: youre still asleep aren't you god damnit_

I tug on my shoes, grab my back, and trip my way out of the house. Jared still hasn't stopped honking the horn, except now it's to the tune of Stayin' Alive. My neighbors are going to file a compliant if he doesn't quit it.

Thank God, though, because he sees me and lays off the horn. I brace myself when I see him he rolls his window down.

"I've been honking the horn for at least 5 minutes, how the hell did you sleep through that?" he asks, annoyance written across his face. It always was. At least when he was talking to me.

"Sorry," I yawn, sliding into the passengers sear. I try to rub the sleep from my eyes, but now that the adrenaline from realizing that I was late had gone away, I was left with earth-shattering exhaustion.

I had barely slept a wink last night, finally passing out from exhaustion soon after Mom left for work.

It had just been one of those sleepless nights, where you can't fall asleep no matter what. But I'd also been tossing and turning over why Connor hadn't come to lunch yesterday.

"Tired from getting boned by Murphy last night?" Jared remarks, smirking before checking the rearview for oncoming cars.

The idea of getting out of the car and just skipping, hiding away in my bed was tempting. Too tempting.

"Jar-" I groan, but once he's started, he won't stop until he feels like it.

"No, I don't see a limp. Or any visible hickies, and I doubt you know how to cover them up seeing as you are our resident 'Forever Virgin'," Jared laughs, inspecting me for marks and looking away from the road for a dangerous amount of time.

"Jared. Come on, you said you'd be nicer to Connor," I remind him. I don't expect him to concede. He doesn't care. I know he doesn't. He never does.

"I'm being perfectly civil. Unless you think that saying that he'd sleep with you is rude, which I'd have to agree with. So, I'm so sorry Connor, who isn't here. I apologize for implying that your standards are so low and you are so desperate for ass that you fucked Evan," he mocks.

That one hurt. They all did. All of his jabs and jibes hurt so much, constantly flying around me like mosquitos. They never went away, and I tried to ignore them but the buzzing in my ears and the stinging in my skin couldn't stop reminding me.

"Come on now, don't sulk. If you stop dressing like an old man and finally learn how to talk like a normal human, then you might actually not die a virgin," he mockingly reassures me.

I should have stayed home. Or walked, even though I would be super late and sweaty and even more tired. I quietly stew, not wanting to encourage him. Until I process his words.

"Wait," I say, realization dawning on me.

"What?" Jared asks, scorn lacing his voice. But instead of flinching away like I usually do, I smile. Maybe the exhaustion is making me loopy, because I would never have the guts to say this.

"Did you just call me hot?" I ask, looking him square in the eye. Jared pales.

"Huh? What? I- what-" he splutters, red creeping up his face.

"You did. You said that if I dressed differently and acted differently then I'd get laid. You just called me hot!" I laugh, shaking my head. Normally I wouldn't say anything in fear of embarrassment. But right now, I'm the one making fun of Jared. That must make me a bad person, but I can't find it in myself to care at the moment.

"I don't- okay, you're taking that of context, okay. That's not. I'm straight!" he frantically says. His indignant stammers can barely be heard over my roaring laughter. The knowledge that he would pay me back for this later didn't escape me. But I'm enjoying this way too much.

Over a weeks worth of gay jokes came back to bite him in the ass, and it was absolutely glorious.

"I know. I am too," I reply, looking away. If I make eye contact then I'll immediately lose my confident high-ground. I want this to last for as long as possible.

"Okay." Jared flexed his fingers over the steering wheel, knuckles white from gripping onto it.

"Okay," I repeat. It's quiet as we drive through the neighborhood, and I see him squirm. He thinks I don't believe him. I do, but he doesn't have to know that.

"I had a girlfriend over the summer, okay, it's not like I'm closeted or anything," he insists after a moment. I snicker.

"I never said you were," I say, innocently. He's not even glaring at me. Just nervously staring straight ahead.

"You thought it," Jared accuses, and I cover my mouth to muffle the laughter I feel building again. I haven't laughed this much since... well, since lunch with Connor.

"Not at all." This would be a story for Connor. That is, if he sits with me at lunch today. I can't tell him in World Lit because someone might hear and then rumors about Jared being gay would spread and he'd hate me and I'd have no friends.

"I never said you were hot so don't get any ideas, okay?" Jared says, and I startle a bit. I briefly forgot where I was as I got lost in the what-if's, but a smile spreads across my face when I remember.

"Jared Kleinman thinks I'm hot," I stage-whisper to myself, and he groans in annoyance.

"Why're you so worried about what I think? Thought it was Murphy you wanted inside of you," he asks, and I falter, almost losing my nerve.

"Jealous?" I counter, and Jared finally looks me in the eye, shocked.

"Wow. Okay, what the fuck did he do to you? I'd think all that fucking you guys were doing would break your back but instead you've seem to grown one," he chuckles airily to himself.

And just like that, it's gone. The bit of confidence that got me to stand up to Jared disappears, and I shrink back into myself.

"Come on, Jared. The gay jokes make both of us uncomfortable-" he laughs, demeaning and harsh. The car jerks to a stop, and I'm already out the door before he even parks it.

"And just like that, you're back to normal. A good thing, too, seeing as I _almost_ missed you," he calls out as I quickly walk away, clutching to my backpack strings. Bad idea. Bad idea. This was a bad idea.

What made me think I could stand up to Jared? How stupid could I be? We weren't friends. We didn't have clever repartee or witty banter. We didn't have playful teasing. I was the punching bag. The joke. The court jester. The punching bag can't fight back.

I should be grateful he even speaks to me. Without him, I'd have only have Connor. Someone who doesn't even seem to want to be around me. He probably only sat with me at lunch because he felt bad for me.

That's what I am. An object of pity. Like those commercials about the starving dogs. Or those homeless people you see on the street. Everyone thinks that homeless people should have a house, but no one ever builds it for them. It's too much work, too exhausting, and not enough in return. The most you'll give them is a sympathetic smile and a few bucks.

Will I ever be more than that? Will I ever do anything greater than staring at the board as the teacher writes down notes? Listening to class discussions, never saying anything? Do I have anyone but myself to blame for how invisible and worthless I am?

I don't know. I wish I did. And I can't do anything about it. At least right now.

Mom always tells me these corny motivational sayings that are supposed to cheer me up or something. They never really stick. A few do, however. I remember one from last spring. It was something along the lines of 'Sometimes the best you can do is be present'. I'm not an optimistic person by any means, but it's a nice little reminder. A way of lying to myself, pretending that I'm doing enough.

So, I walk to class. I sit down. I pull out my notebook. I write notes from the board. The class has a discussion. And I'm present.

Somewhat. I'm physically present, at least. The only thing that reels me back to reality is a small groan I hear to my left in an otherwise silent room. I'm supposed to be working on a concept map, but instead I'm staring at it blankly.

I glance over to see who groaned, and see Alana Beck staring frustratedly at her paper. We'd never spoken before. I should just focus on my own paper and let her do her thing.

And I don't know what it is. My outburst at Jared from earlier, probably. But something makes me open my mouth.

"Um... hey, are you, uh, are you alright?" I whisper, and she looks up at me. A bright smile is plastered on her face, but her eyes look disappointed.

"Yes, I'm fine," she assures me, her smile still not reaching her eyes. I'm not sure if she believes it, but I don't. But I can't tell her that. It's rude and out of line.

"Okay. Sorry, you just seem kinda, uh, freaked out? Sorry," I say, tripping over my words. As per usual, I guess. Alana's smile drops. She doesn't turn back to her paper, so I don't either. This conversation isn't over yet, but I hope it ends soon.

"I just can't figure out what I'm doing wrong. The lines don't match up," she says, glaring at her paper. I carefully slide it towards me, and examine it.

"You switched Gross National Product and Gross Domestic Product," I quietly tell her, sliding her paper back across. Alana checks, and smiles dryly.

"Ah, so I did. Environmental Science seems to be one of the classes that I struggle in a bit. Truth be told, these few weeks haven't been so fantastic. Thank you so much Evan," she whispers.

I pause. If this were a movie, a record scratch would play. Alana Beck knows my name. I didn't think anyone knew my name. Hell, the teachers still call me Mark most of the time.

"You know my name?" I ask, and she smiles, confused. She's always smiling. Always energetic. I wish I could have such positive energy. Where Alana's the sun, I'm a black hole.

"Of course I do! We've been in the same class since middle school," she says. I nod. The look she's giving me is expectant, and I realize that she might think that I don't know her name.

"Oh. Well, no problem Alana." I hesitantly smile back, attempting to match her energy.

She smiles. Of course she smiles. I never see her not smiling. But it seeps into her eyes, crinkling the corners and reducing the tiredness she always exudes. A constant fatigue underlining her cheerfulness.

Thankfully, Alana doesn't try to push the conversation anymore. Just a simple curt nod, and she turns back to her paper.

With that disruption to my distracting train of thought over, I barely manage to complete and turn in the concept map before the bell. My next class passes in a whirlwind of notes, and before I know it I'm walking down the long corridor towards the Literature classrooms. Towards my possible doom.

Before I can duck into class however, I see Jared strutting towards me. Adrenaline courses through me, and I instinctively take a step back. I feel like an animal being cornered. This was payback for this morning.

"Hey Acorn, guess what?" Jared asks, faux excitement in his voice. I look past him towards the classroom door. So close.

"What Jared?" I impatiently reply, hands reaching for my backpack strap.

"I saw your boyfriend last period," he teases, raising his eyebrows suggestively. My face heats up, and I glance around to make sure no one hears. They probably did. At least I'm enough of a nobody that rumors won't spread about me.

"So?" I ask. He scoffs and crosses his arms, as if I've offended him.

"So, that means he's here today," he says, like I just missed some huge important point. A surge of irritation races through my body, and I roll my eyes. Something I would normally never ever do, but I guess today's the day for firsts.

"I mean, I figured he would be." I shrug. Jared stares at me, almost glaring.

"Are you gonna fist fight over him leaving you all to your lonesome yesterday? Because if you are, I wanna record it," he snickers. My eye catches on a tall figure walking into Mr. Abdul's classroom, but I don't think he sees me.

"What? No! He's not obligated to sit with me, he just did because he was nice and probably pitied how pathetic I looked sitting by myself," I say. But I keep my focus on the door.

"How angsty. He really is rubbing off on you. Probably isn't the only part of you he's rubbing," Jared snarks. Again, my face turns red.

"Jared!" I yelp. I don't know what it is with him and sex jokes, but they seemed to have gotten worse since I started talking to Connor.

"So defensive! Are you hiding something?" he asks. I groan, and push past him.

"No. Don't you have a class to get to?" I don't get a response, just an over-exaggerated sigh. I don't really care. Kind of. I actually very much care. But right now I'm focusing on other things.

I slide into the desk next to Connor, who has his head resting on his open palm and is watching me. I don't look at him. I can't.

"Hi," I say to the table. We'd almost gotten past the awkward stage, the one where we could only make uneasy small talk. But I couldn't get the nagging thought that he was tired of me out of my head

"Hey," Connor replies. And just keeps watching me. Unashamedly not looking away. I briefly wonder if he's high, then feel bad because he probably doesn't even smoke and I'm just assuming things about him which is so rude.

"Um, where were you yesterday? At lunch?" I ask him. His eyes flit to the side, before resting heavily back on me.

Before he can answer, however, Mr. Abdul raps his hand across his desk, and everyone goes silent. The projector gets turned on, and he turns off the lights. It's some video on Shakespeare.

"I didn't think you'd care that I was gone," Connor whispers, trying to avoid the harsh glare of Mr. Abdul.

I startle. As absurd as it was to me, I understood. His brain convinced him something that wasn't true was. If anyone understood what that was like, it was me.

"Of course I care! You're..." I trail off. I see Connor as my friend. But is the feeling mutual? I can't call him my friend if there's a chance that he doesn't want anything to do with me.

"What?"

"I have a question. Please don't hate me. If this goes bad, please just forget that I ever asked," I say.

"Okay?" He looks confused. And apprehensive. Like I'm going to ask him some big life-changing thing.

But that's what it feels like. Life-changing. My first real friend, that wasn't in it for car insurance. And maybe I would be his first real friend too.

"Are we friends?" I ask. I wring my hands nervously. Connor peers at me. Someone's clicking their pencil. The documentary drones on about The Tempest.

"Do you want to be friends?" he asks, and I physically deflate with relief.

"Yes, very much yes," I rush, and Connor chuckles. Mr. Abdul shushes him, but he keeps smiling.

"Friends." We shake hands as if it's some ancient law we're enacting. I don't think either of us pay attention the rest of the class period.

Finally, the bell rings and everyone shoves back from their desks. I grab my bag, but stop Connor before he can walk away.

"So, do you wanna sit with me at lunch today? I can't guarantee Jared won't be there, but I tried to get him to stop with the gay jokes and rude comments. If you don't want to, I totally understand. I know how I am, and I know how he is, so if you-"

"Sure." He stops me before I keep rambling and further embarrass myself. I blink, shocked.

"Oh."

"What?" he asks, glancing toward Mr. Abdul who's watching us and definitely waiting for us to leave because we're the only ones left. I feel the back of my neck grow hot.

"Nothing, I just. Nothing," I say, before leaving the classroom. This time, he walks with me to the cafeteria.

Someone rushes past, jostling me. My arm brushed against Connors. He glares at them as they disappear out of sight. "Jackass," he mutters.

We find our table, our island, our safe space, and sit down across from each other. I still can't start a conversation with him.

"How was your... day?" I ask hesitantly. He snorts, amused.

"Wow," he says sarcastically, and I nervously laugh along. I know he isn't being malicious, but it sounds so much like Jared that my flight instincts are kicking in.

"I'm sorry, I don't really have a lot of friends. I'm pathetic, I know. So, I'm not really the best at talking," I explain, halting and stammering. Like usual.

"You? Not good at talking? I never would have guessed," he gasped with a dry smile.

"Haha, yeah..." I trail off, rubbing the back of my neck. For the millionth time, I curse my inability to hold a conversation. How is Connor going to want to be friends with me if I can't even talk to him normally?

He must realize that I've dipped down to the level of uncomfortableness where I probably won't be instigating a conversation for a while. "My day was fine. We watched a documentary on the history of surrealism in 1st block. Kleinman called me a pimp last period."

"I'm sorry about him," I apologize. I feel bad that Jared relentlessly teases him like this, but he won't listen to me when I tell him to stop. And I can't lose my only- one of my only friends.

"Nothing you can do about it. How about your day, how've you been?" he asks, and I smile. He's trying. Thank God, because if not for him the conversation would die.

"Oh, nothing really happened to me today," I reply, before realizing that if I don't engage then we'll go quiet. "I mean, Jared drove me to school and couldn't make it any more clear that he didn't want to." Because that was so much better then just not talking.

"He's a dick," Connor says, and I nod in agreement. Silence. Quickly, I grasp at any hint of something I could say, when I remember what happened this morning with Jared.

"Actually, something eventful did happen," I say with the barest hint of a smile on my face.

"What?"

"If I tell you, Jared's gonna be pissed," I sigh, pretending to be hesitate despite the growing grin on my face.

"Which is why you should tell me," Connor insists, a matching smile on his face.

"So he made a joke about the two of us... uh. hooking up. And then after he said it was rude to say that you'd ever sink so low as to sleep with me, he said if I started dressing different and speaking different, I'd get laid," I explain.

"What the fuck," Connor exclaims a little too loudly. A few glances are thrown our way. I shrink into myself, but kept going.

"I know!"

"What did you say? Please tell me you handed his ass back to him," he begs, and I nod so fast it feels like my brain is going to fly out of my ears.

"I looked at him and I said 'Did you just call me hot?'" He starts laughing, loud and hard. It's infectious, and I have to cover my mouth to hide my face-splitting smile.

"Tell me you did not!" he wheezes.

"I did! And he got so flustered, he kept saying 'I'm straight!' over and over again!" I mock, doing my best Jared impression. It sends Connor into hysterics.

"I would have sold my left arm to see his face, holy shit," he says, rubbing his nose in an effort to stop laughing. The conversation slowly trickles on. Nothing groundbreaking, but the high of making him laugh carries me for the rest of the period. I'll never get tired of hearing it.

He stops me when the bell rings. Nervously, he fiddles with his bag.

"Hey. I thought it might be easier if we had each other's numbers? Because, like, if I skip again you don't have to wait until the next day to ask why, ya know? If you don't want to it's fine, I get it."

"Sure! Yeah, sure, uh, absolutely," I say, barely giving him time to finish his sentence or rethink. Reaching into his bag, Connor pulls out a small slip of paper, and I fumble for one too.

His phone number is written on the back of some old homework. His handwriting is nice. Sloppy, almost chicken scratch. But the loops of the g's intertwine, making a kind of infinity symbol.

When we part ways, he gives me a nod. One single, solid nod. And just like that, my lifeboat gains a passenger.


	4. Chapter 4: "Fight The Lonely"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the phone number used is made up, please do not try and contact it. i know y'all are smart enough to know that but i feel like legally i have to say that

**Monday, October 1st**

An old, worn-down car is sitting in the driveway as I walk up the front stoop. Which was odd, because Mom is never home until very late. She had been home this morning, her shift not starting until 9.

Maybe she had died, and I had been in the house with a corpse and didn't even realize. That was terrifying, and I recoiled from the door. I didn't have a job, who was going to pay the bills? Wait, I was 17. So I'd get put in foster care and end up homeless in the street and probably have to drop out of school and die alone and sad.

Or maybe, I was overthinking. Because I heard movement inside the house. Which could also possibly have been a burglar. Maybe they broke in and saw my moms dead body and called the cops and I'm gonna get arrested for killing my own mom.

Shakily, I push my key into the lock, and open the door. "Mom?" I call out, and sigh in relief when she pops her head around the corner for a moment before retreating.

"Hey sweetie! How was school?" she asks, rustling some papers. I walk into the kitchen to find her running around, grabbing her bag and looking for something.

"Uh, it was good..." I trail off, but she doesn't seem to notice my confusion or my hesitance.

"Yeah? That's good. You've been keeping up with your homework?" she presses, sliding on her shoes as she rifles through her purse.

"Yeah. You're leaving?" I ask, and Mom pauses her frantic searching to shoot me a tight-lipped smile.

"I picked up an extra shift tonight. I'll go straight from there to class, so I might see you tomorrow afternoon?" she says, but like almost everything, there's a questioning note to it. Like she knows that she can't even make definite plans, and she doesn't want to make a promise she can't keep. Like I don't know well enough by now that any plans she makes will be postponed indefinitely.

"I guess," I shrug, slowly inching my way towards the stairs. I don't want to get away from Mom. I want to get away from the feeling that I was never a priority even once in my life.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. I'm off on Saturday, maybe we could do something together? We haven't been to the Bellhouse in a while, maybe we could go there? They have those pancakes you like," she asks, before snatching her keys from the bottom of her purse.

"Yeah, maybe," I say, noncommittally. Mom's basically already out the door and I doubt she's even registered anything I've said.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good day. I left some money on the counter, please eat. You have an appointment with Dr. Sherman Wednesday. I love you!" she shouts, before the door slams closed and echos with her absence.

"I love you too," I whisper. She's gone. She can't hear me. Even when she's right in front of me, she can't hear me.

Sometimes silence is the most welcome sound. It can fall upon deaf ears, or it can be welcomed with a smile. Silence was an old friend of mine. Ever since my dad left, the house was always quiet. Even when I was with my mom on those rare nights where we could spend time together, quietness would loom over us, watchful.

My room is just as I left it. Of course it is, it isn't like anyone was gonna touch it. But it feels devoid of life. My bed is neat, books lined up on the shelf, map on the bulletin with pins in it. It looks like an IKEA display. Fake. It didn't look lived in.

Suddenly I want to scream. I don't know why, maybe just to prove that I can do something unexpected and loud. But no one would hear me. So it wouldn't matter. Not that anything I did mattered, anyway.

I was almost sad that I didn't have any homework. I always did it the second I got home, so I wouldn't procrastinate. In 8th grade and freshman year I procrastinated really badly and almost fell behind. Which was absolute shit for my mental health. Panic attacks started becoming a daily occurrence.

Eventually, I just started to do all my homework the second I got home. Unless it was a long term project, in which I divided it up and did part of it each day. It was one of the few things I allowed myself to be proud of. My level of productiveness when it comes to homework was the only thing I felt accomplished in.

But today is one of those days where none of my teachers gave me homework. Which I'm actually kind of sad about. I hate doing homework, don't get me wrong, but I hate not having it even more.

It gives me something to do, something to take my mind off stuff. Finding the molar mass of ammonium perchlorate if I convert grams to formula units is easier then letting the wicked silence eat me alive.

Just as I've resigned myself to spending the evening reading my way through my bookshelf, or maybe watching a baking show, my phone buzzes. Then it buzzes again. And again. And again. And a few more times, in rapid succession.

Immediately, I assume it's Jared. Probably asking for homework answers to a paper that I did a week ago, and I'll have to dig through my bag and he'll ask me what's taking so long and my hands will get sweaty and tear through the paper and I'll have a ball of pulpy illegible mess.

But it's not from Jared. It's from a number that I don't recognize.

585-736-5682: _h_

585-736-5682: ey

585-736-5682: _sorry i meant heu_

585-736-5682: _hey, i meant hey_

585-736-5682: _i am so sorry jesus christ_

585-736-5682: _im not high i swear_

It could be a random person, someone who has the wrong number. But it's probably Connor. He gave me his number last week, but the slip of paper sat in my backpack this entire time. Every time I thought of texting him, or even creating his contact, I felt panicky and jittery and floppy.

_Me: Connor?_

I haven't told Mom about him. I'm not ashamed of him or anything. I don't know why I would be. I was wary of him at first, and before I knew him. But now that I know him a little bit, he's nice. Really nice. And kind of a nerd. Not in a bad way, of course. It's endearing, actually.

But she's never around and this seems like the kind of thing that I should tell her about and explain. And I know that if I were to start talking about it then I wouldn't stop. So she just doesn't know.

585-736-5682: _I never said my name did i_

_Me: No, you didn't._

585-736-5682: _it's been a while since i texted someone new_

_Me: It's okay, me too. This is Evan by the way._

_Connor: no ! really?_

_Me: Unfortunately, yes._

_Connor: actually i'm very fortunate that this is you_

_Connor: i don't wanna be the guy who asks for homework answers_

Oh.

_Connor: however_

I should have known. Why else would he be going out of this way to talk to me? I don't blame him. Let's be honest; it makes sense to ask me for homework. I couldn't do something has bold as break the rules and not do my homework, and I'm a pushover so it's not like I wouldn't give the answers to him.

I'm sinking down a spiral of self deprecation, I know I am. It happens often enough that I recognize the way everything seems to slow. As easy as it would be to just pause and listen, I shakily respond.

_Me: It's fine. Which class do you need?_

_Connor: okay okay okkay hold on_

_Connor: i'm an asshole not a leech_

_Me: You're not an asshole._

I don't know why he's so hard on himself. Connor always jokes and talks about how he's a bad person, but I don't understand why. Anyone who can call me their friend with a straight face is a saint.

_Connor: you're funny_

_Connor: anyways_

One of these days, I'm going to show him how good he is. I'll hold up a mirror and reflect my image of him back to himself. Because if anyone deserves to know how great they are, it's Connor.

_Connor: you're smart right_

_Me: No._

_Connor: shut up_

_Connor: Environmental Science_

_Me: What about it?_

_Connor: you're smart in it right_

_Me: Not really_

_Connor: you take AP Environmental Science literally shut up right now_

_Connor: can you help me with it_

_Connor: i don't need the answers i just need to figure out what the fuck is going on_

Oh. He wasn't asking me for answers. Just for help. Which wasn't the same thing, in my opinion at least. And my opinion isn't exactly the most reliable. But it's not like I wasn't going to help him.

_Me: You're in AP Environmental Science?_

_Connor: no i'm in on level_

_Me: I thought we were supposed to take on-level last year?_

_Connor: yours truly failed the fuck out of the regents because i was hungover when I took it_

_Connor: so im retaking the class_

Now I really didn't understand why he called himself an asshole when I was so clearly the worst of us. What kind of jerk makes someone say that they failed a statewide test?

_Me: I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said anything_

_Connor: stop apologizing_

_Connor: you were gonna say it again weren't you_

He was right.

_Me: No!_

_Me: Maybe._

_Me: Yeah._

_Connor: of course_

_Me: So what part do you need help on?_

_Connor: the uh_

_Connor: the fucking one_

_Me: What?_

_Connor: the part with the terms_

_Me: You might have to be a little more specific on that one._

**Connor is FaceTiming...**

Oh no. He was calling me. I couldn't pick up. I was awful at calling people. And it was a FaceTime so I would have to watch to make sure my camera wasn't at a weird angle. But if I declined then he'd think that I didn't want to call him or be around him but I do want to talk to him just not calling.

The phone was ringing and my own panicked face was staring back at me. Frantically, I set my phone against the back of my desk and accept the call.

"Hey," Connor says immediately. He isn't even looking at me, just glaring at his paper frustratedly and erasing it so hard I think he's gonna tear a hole in it. I can do this. It's just a FaceTime.

"Uh, hey. Hi. So, um, God, I'm sorry. I don't- sorry." I can't do this. There's a reason I don't call people, and it's because I'm even more awkward than I am normally.

"You okay?" he asks, glancing at me. I nervously laugh because I don't know what else to do.

"Yeah, yeah, I just. I don't do well with calls?" I reply, and Connor looks at me. I wish he wouldn't.

"We don't have to call, I just thought it would be easier then texting. I don't want to do something you're uncomfortable with, we can just-"

"No. I can. It's fine. Um, so what do you need help with?" I ask. He gets the hint to move on and turns back to the paper.

"It's definition/terms thing. And I _would_ Google it, but believe it or not I actually want to know the answers," he says dryly.

"Okay, well, uh, what's the part that you don't get?" I ask. Connor stares blankly at the paper before looking up at me, confused.

"All of it?" I laugh, and his confusion melts into a smile. "Like, I don't know the terms part, but I also don't know how to calculate the exponential growth of the population. I'm pretty sure I learned exponential growth in like freshman year but I don't understand any of it."

"What are the terms?" After flipping the papers around for a moment, he scoffs.

"What the actual living fuck is a Tragedy of Commons?"

"It's the thing where you- okay. You know how there are some things that everyone's supposed to do like, uh... recycling? But sometimes people think that everyone else is going to do it so they don't have to? But that leads to no one doing it?" I explain.

Connor bites his lip, looking conflicted. It's quiet as I wait for him to say something.

"You're like a conservationist right? One of those guys who holds those 'Save the trees' signs outside of stores?" he asks, and I snort.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I don't go out and do anything, I just think we should be better to the environment," I say, and he sighs solemnly.

"You're gonna kill me," he whispers mournfully. If it weren't for the way his eyes crinkled and the corners of his mouth twitched up like he was trying hard not to laugh, I'd be worried.

"What? Did you cut down a tree?" I ask jokingly, and he shakes his head.

"I threw a plastic cup in a garbage can last week because I was too lazy to find a recycling bin," he says, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

I stare at him for a moment, before realizing that this is a joke. This is a joke where I'm not the punchline. This is a joke that I'm included in, a joke I'm supposed to add onto.

And really that's all I ever wanted. An inside joke with my best friend. So I give Connor a look of mock-disbelief, dropping my head into my hands.

"I can't do this anymore," I mutter. I don't know how far to take this. This beautiful, delicate thing that I could break with one wrong word.

"Do what anymore?"

"I don't think we should talk anymore," I say, somberly.

"Are you breaking up with me?" he asks, face scrunched like he's going to cry.

And I. Well, I don't know what to say. It's not that I have anything against gay people, I just don't know what to say. Anything I say is gonna be something that Jared would make fun of me for.

But Jared isn't here. Connor is. And Connor wouldn't make fun of me.

"I'm sorry, I just don't think this relationship will work out between us. My relationship with the environment is my main priority and I can't let you jeopardize that."

"I understand, and I am so sorry," he cries, pulling a tissue out of nowhere and sobbing into it. I struggle to stay in character. He is really good at this.

"It's not me. It's you," I assure, and we burst out laughing.

I never get tired of hearing his laugh. He has one of the prettiest laughs I've ever heard. Objectively. It's more of a fact than an opinion, really. Connor has an infectious laugh that makes me wonder how anyone can could be scared of him, or hate him.

"But did you actually throw plastic in the garbage?" I ask, pretending to be serious again.

"Afraid so, Evan," he says, clicking his tongue.

"I'll let you off with a warning since this is your first offense," I chuckle, patting myself down as if looking for a citation pad.

"It's not."

"Since this is your second-"

"Definitely not my second," he interrupts, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile on his face.

"Do you want me to arrest you or not?" I ask, and he rolls his eyes amusedly.

"On the accounts of what, Officer Hansen?" he scoffs, and I pause, trying to think of something funny. I haven't had this much fun talking to someone since the early days of Jared.

"Mayhem," I settle on, and he blinks.

"What?"

"You are causing chaos and disrupting the general public," I claim, crossing my arms and giving him a stern stare.

"My bad. Please, sir, tell me how I could possibly repent?" Connor pleads sarcastically.

"You..." I trail off, trying to come up with something ridiculous he could do to atone for his crimes.

"Me?"

"Shush, I'm thinking!" I say, and he chuckles. "Wait, wait, okay I have it. In order for your sins to be forgiven, you have to show me one piece of your art."

I hope I didn't go too far. Just the other day he had mentioned that he hadn't ever shown anyone his art, and here I am demanding I see it. But this is just a silly little thing, so he knows that if he doesn't want to he doesn't have to, right?

"Can it be anything?" Connor asks, after a head-splittingly long time.

"Yes. Wait, no. Wait, yes," I decide, and he fumbles for a spare piece of paper.

"Okay, wait hold on." He gives up and starts drawing on the corner of his homework. I don't know what to do until he's done, so I just stare at my desk so he doesn't feel watched. The sound of his pencil scratching speaks so we don't have to.

"It has been completed," he announces after just a few minutes.

"Already?"

"Of course," he says dramatically. He holds up the paper with his hand covering the drawing in the corner, presenting it like he's the spokesperson on a gameshow.

"It's... a..." Connor says, drawing it out insanely long and moving his hand mind-numbingly slowly.

Finally, he unveils it all the way and reveals a cartoon tree with a dopey smile on it's face and a little bird on it's branch.

"You drew a tree!" I exclaim, snatching my phone so I could look at it closer.

"Yep. I figured that- did you just take a FaceTime photo?" he asks, and my face flushes.

"I- I'm sorry. I'll delete it, I just really liked the picture I'm so sorry. I should have asked." We were having a nice time and then I had to overstep.

"Ev, chill," he says.

I freeze. Ev? Like Evan? Me? That's my name. But it's not my full name. It's half of my name. Like a nickname?

Did Connor just give me a nickname? I've never had a nickname before. Except for the various ones that Jared uses. He comes up with a new insulting name once a month.

But this doesn't feel the same. It felt friendly. And accidental, if the red clinging to Connor's face says anything.

"Sorry," I repeat, scratching my neck.

"If I didn't want you to see it then I wouldn't have shown it to you. Fuck, I literally drew it for you," he says, and I laugh nervously. Something about him saying that he did it for me made me antsy. It was such a personal thing, to draw something for someone. Even if it was just a little tree.

"You drew it to pay for your crimes," I correct him, and he snickers.

"That too."

He rustles through his papers for a second before sighing and looking at me.

"What were we talking about?" Connor asks, and I laugh and shake my head.

"You were doing homework."

"Right. Okay we were at..." he scans the paper before groaning. "The first one. Okay, so change of plans, I'm gonna Google the rest of them and I'll leave you alone if you can help me with the exponential growth."

Despite how much I dreaded the call in the beginning, I was sad to hang up.

"I have nothing better to do. I already did my homework, so I'm fine with helping you through the whole thing," I volunteer, and he doesn't quite smile. But he looks happy.

"Rad."

"Rad?" I ask, and he glares at me.

"Yes, rad!" he insists, and I laugh again. Only Connor would use the word 'rad'.

"Why rad?" I question, and he continues glaring at me, but something in his eyes doesn't make me worry that he hates me.

"I just said rad, okay, I made my choice and I'm sticking with it," he proclaims.

What an absolute dork.

"Okay, so what's the next term?" I ask, and he grabs his pencil and reads aloud the next question. He's so focused on the paper that he doesn't notice I'm not paying attention. Instead, I'm in the Photos app, favoriting the tree.

Because what else would be my favorite photo, except for the little tree my best friend drew. For me.


	5. Chapter 5: "So Many, Yet So Few"

**Wednesday, October 3rd**

Talking used to be an ordeal for me. Not uncommon, exactly. I talked. A lot. But it was never on purpose. Once I started I couldn't stop, and the momentum of speaking carried me as I fumbled through an interaction.

Which is another reason why I couldn't stop appreciating Connor. We talk, and I talk because I want to. I can barely remember a time before him when I talked to someone earnestly.

That time isn't right now though, as I feel a pencil poke my arm.

"Pst." Without looking up from my paper, I gently swat his hand away.

"Hey," Connor whispers, barely audible, as he pokes my arm again. I glare at him, and almost imperceptibly nod my head towards where Mr. Abdul sits watchful.

"He can't hear me, he's all the way over there," Connor says, and then pokes me again despite having my attention.

"We're in the middle of a quiz, I'm not talking to you," I reply softly, shaking him off. He groans quietly, and I wait for Mr. Abdul to notice. He doesn't.

"I already finished, so it doesn't matter," he complains. Smiley faces find themselves doodled on the edge of my paper, and I can't find it in myself to erase them. Even with the self-satisfied look Connor is giving me.

"I haven't," I say. I pointedly stare at my paper, hoping he gets the hint. I know he does. He just ignores it.

"Okay, well, we aren't cheating so it doesn't matter," he points out, and I sigh.

"It looks like we are."

"Psh," he scoffs, and I raise a brow. That's his defense? Psh?

"'Psh'?" I ask, and he stifles a laugh. He doesn't succeed, however, as Mr. Abdul clears his throat.

"Mr. Hansen and Mr. Murphy, we are taking a quiz. I know you aren't cheating, but please keep quiet," he says, watching us. He doesn't look mad. More curious.

"Sorry Mr. Abdul," I say, face heating up as I look back down at my paper, ignoring the stares I feel.

"Sorry," Connor echoes. I don't look up until the bell rings and we file out of the classroom. Connor sidles up next to me, and I stare at him exasperatedly.

"What?" he asks, and I roll my eyes, tilting my head to hide the developing grin.

"I told you not to talk during a quiz," I remind him, and he crosses his arms, unimpressed. I start walking faster, but he laughs and jogs in line with me.

"Okay, but I had a joke I wanted to tell you. And if I didn't say it then, then I would forget it. And I did forget it," he says, and I just keep walking.

I don't give him the satisfaction of laughing, even though I want to. I know he'll text me at some ungodly hour when he remembers what he wanted to say.

"Mr. Abdul is going to move our desks any day now," I say, changing the subject. Connor nods in agreement.

"I'm surprised he hasn't already. You never shut up," he teases, raising his voice as the ones around us get louder.

"Excuse me, you're the one who's always talking," I fire back. It was weird getting used to playful teasing that I was supposed to participate in. I was so used to just taking everything as it came.

"Not true!" Connor gasps, holding a hand to his heart like I said something deeply offensive.

"Which one of us was the one talking during a quiz?" I ask, and he shoulder-checks me, light enough that I don't stumble.

"Other than that, you talk more than me," he grins.

"Really? Me?"

"Of course. Everyone knows Evan Hansen talks the ear off of everyone he meets," Connor claims, sarcasm permeating his tone.

"Oh, shut up," I say, not meeting his eye. If I look at him then I'll laugh.

"Rude! He's rude too, I forgot to mention that. He's rude and talkative," he says, and I knew he was just trying to get me to laugh.

"God, he sounds like he doesn't have any redeemable qualities. I can't believe you hang around him," I say, sitting down at our table.

"Y'know, interestingly enough, he isn't all that bad," Connor says, sitting down in his usual seat across from me. I don't know how people can have conversations with the person directly next to them for half an hour. It's just an awkward position.

He rests his head on the palm of his hand for the barest second before jerking away and lunging for his bag. "Wait, I almost forgot. I have something for you."

After a moment spent rooting around his bag, he sprouts up and slams a piece of paper on the table with an excited smile on his face. I grab the paper, which is worn and crumbled. After smoothing out the wrinkles and reading the page, I squint at him in confusion. It's the homework I helped him with the other day.

"Your homework?" I ask him, thinking that I wasn't getting something. Was this a weird thank you for helping him, like a war spoil?

"Flip it over," Connor instructs, exasperatedly grabbing it and turning the pages and pointing at the top corner.

A small tree smiles at me. A little smudged, but undoubtedly the one from Monday.

"The tree," I whisper in disbelief, unable to tear my eyes away.

"I meant to give it to you yesterday but I forgot," he explains. I nod, but I barely heard what he said.

"Thank you so much, oh my God. This is so much," I breathe out. My voice isn't working. If I talk anymore the lump in my throat is going to be very apparent.

My friend. My best friend. My best friend drew _me_ something. Something he knew I would like. And gave it to me. Which shouldn't be a big deal, and he wasn't making it a bid deal so I shouldn't make it into something that it isn't. But. This little testament to the fact that I have a friend won't stop smiling at me.

"It's really not, it's like 2 inches," he says, but I'm not joking. There's someone out there that genuinely enjoys being around me and I have a tiny drawing to prove it.

"Thank you for the drawing," I say finally, once I swallow any embarrassing tears that might end up getting me mocked.

"What kind of tree is it?" Connor asks eagerly. I examine it for a second. I want to tell him that he drew some incredibly rare tree, or say something smart, but it's just an average tree.

"The overall round shape of the leaves and thick trunk look like oak," I conclude, and he leans back, satisfied with my answer.

"Nerd," he says with a smile so affectionate that I almost can't bear it. I can't bear the name, either. Jared calls me a nerd a lot, and never with the smile Connor has. And I know he didn't mean any harm when he said it. But still.

"You're a nerd," I shoot back, clearing my throat. I'm not in danger of crying anymore, which is good. But I can't fathom what I did to deserve a friend like Connor. Who's weird and sweet and not what I imagined when I desperately hoped for someone to talk to.

"How am I a nerd?" he asks. I laugh. Too hard. I had never told him about the assumption I made the first time we sat at lunch together. I didn't want to sound mean, because I don't mean it like that. But now my sides are ripping apart because if I was right then he was most definitely a nerd and if you asked me a month ago if I thought Connor Murphy was a nerd then I would laugh as hard as I am right now.

"Did you read Percy Jackson as a kid?" I ask when I calm down enough to meet his confused gaze.

"I- What? Yes?" I start laughing all over again, both at the shocked way his jaw dropped and at the fact my suspicions were confirmed.

"I knew it!"

"How?"

"The first week we talked, and you talked about the Odyssey. I thought that you looked like someone who read Percy Jackson as a kid," I explain, taking a deep breath to calm my breathing. No doubt my face was redder than a cherry.

Connor snorts and shakes his head. Whether it's at my hysterics or at how long I've been pondering such a mundane question, I don't know.

"Did you read it?" he asks, somewhat defensively.

I did. It wasn't my favorite, but I read both series. A few times. I didn't want to admit that to Connor though, it would only prove him right. It was so stupid, but I want to prove that I'm not a nerd. And I am, I know that objectively I'm a loser. But the part of me that hated how I was a punching bag didn't want Jared to be right.

"Like, forever ago. The only thing I remember is that I had a crush on Hazel," I say. That part's true. The part that I don't remember anything is not. It's just been a while since middle school, where I was the kid who hid in the library during lunch because the cafeteria sent me spiraling into panic attacks.

"Oh, but I'm the nerd?" Connor asks, eyebrows raised.

"Shut up!"

"I wasn't aware I was friends with a hypocrite."

"Ok, well who did you have a crush on?" I ask, spinning the topic back onto him.

That must have been the wrong thing to say. Darkness rolls over his face like storm clouds, and he has a tenseness to him that he didn't have before. "I, uh..."

"Come on, it couldn't have been that bad," I press. An asshole thing to do, I know. He swallows hard, and glances up towards me, eyes wide and swimming with fear.

"Um, uh, I had a crush on Percy when I was like 12," he murmurs, achingly quiet.

I wish I could say that I was surprised. Truly. I defend him when Jared makes gay jokes, but I also operated under the quiet suspicion that he isn't straight. And, I mean this in the nicest way possible, he is not exactly a caricature of heterosexuality.

And I don't care. I was raised in a house that was supporting and all that, so it's not the gay part that bothers me.

"Oh my God," I say in an exhale, almost a gasp. Connor cringes like I'd raised my fist, and my chest twinges at how vulnerable and scared he looks. I don't know how to go about this besides acting like it isn't a big deal. Because it isn't, right? But I don't want him to think I hate him or anything, because I don't. And I don't want him to think that it doesn't matter that he told me.

Because it does. Connor's obviously terrified, and I'm really glad he trusted me enough to tell me. And it matters to me. It's a big deal to me. Not because he's gay, but because he told me he was. No ones ever trusted me enough to tell me something like that.

"Listen man, if you're gonna be-"

"You are so basic," I snicker, leaning back in my chair.

Confusion paints his face, but he's still hunched in apprehension. He whispers, "...what?"

"Percy? You had a crush on him?" I ask, and slowly, slowly, he relaxes. Shoulders drop, and the wrinkle in his forehead fade away.

"Yeah-"

"Okay, yeah, you and literally the entire world! How dare you laugh at me for liking Hazel when you liked the same character as _Rachel_?" I accuse, and the last trace of his wariness disappears in favor of offense.

"Woah, woah, what is this Rachel slander?" he asks, hands on the table and leaning towards me.

"No, this is Connor slander," I correct, and he rolls his eyes. As if he could say anything with such a boring opinion.

"Rachel didn't do anything to deserve this hatred. And I thought you 'barely remembered reading it'?" he asks.

"Do not divert the topic from your basicness," I say, waving away the question. Connor stares at me for a second, conflicted.

"He's funny, okay-" he claims, head cocked in defense, and I just scoff.

"You can't explain away the basicness."

"Well, this basic nerd is getting fries," says Connor, shaking his head and shoving away from table. A desperate attempt to escape, clearly.

"You can't escape the truth!" I call, before another person blocks my vision.

"Hello Evan!" Alana greets, face split into a smile. Of course.

"Alana, hey. How, how are you?" I ask. I forget to ask people that a lot, or I forget to ask them when they ask me. Which leads to awkward silences because the conversation was supposed to progress from there and I accidentally stopped it because how could I ever do something as basic as talk correctly?

"I'm doing just fine! I've been volunteering at the public library on the weekends, and I started tutoring underclassman in my French class for college credit, so I've been busy lately," she rambles. I know she didn't mean to make me feel inadequate. It's not like that's something that doesn't happen on a daily basis, anyways.

"O-oh, well that's cool," I say, twisting my fingers .She nods enthusiastically. A few beats pass before she points at the table.

"Do you mind if I sit here? I usually sit in Ms. Walkers classroom for lunch, but she's at a meeting and can't let any students in the classroom unattended," she explains.

"Yeah. I mean, I don't mind. Sure," I stumble over my words, but she just grins and sits down in the seat Connor was sitting in moments ago. I'm too scared to tell her that, though, even as I see him returning over her shoulder.

But he doesn't say anything. He just slides in the seat next to me, and I steal one of his fries. Objectively one of the only good cafeteria foods.

"Hey Alana," he addresses, before glaring at me for stealing his fry. I take another one, barely missing his hand as he tries to swat me away.

Alana's face is the same one when I talked to her last Tuesday, like she was surprised that I knew who she was.

"Hello Connor! I didn't know you two sat together," she comments, and he glances over at me.

"Oh. Yeah," he says.

I don't say anything, and neither do them. The silence is strangling me and if I say something then I'd just make it worse.

"So, Alana. Have you ever read Percy Jackson?" Connor asks, and I almost sigh in relief. And also at the fact that Connor is still defending himself over something that is a fact.

"That was my favorite series in middle school!" Alana says brightly, and he nods.

"Who was your favorite character? Because Evan was making fun of me for mine," he asks, and I slap his shoulder. I don't need Alana hating me or think I bully people.

"Okay, no, I wasn't making fun of you for your favorite character I was making fun of you for your fictional crush, th-there's a difference," I explain, and he sighs with annoyance.

"Fine then. Who was your fictional crush?" he corrects, and she thinks for a second.

"I liked Percy," she concludes. I laugh loudly and Connor smacks the table in delight. Alana startles.

"I told you! I fucking told you!" Connor declares, and I shake my head.

"And I told you! You're basic!"

"Did you like Percy too?" Alana asks, and I huff.

"Yeah, he did and, and he's basic for it. Everyone liked Percy," I say.

"Well, he was funny," she justifies.

"That's what Connor said!"

**Thursday, October 4th**

"That's not the point," I vehemently say, and Connor shakes his head vigorously.

"That's the entire point!" he argues back, in a tone that I would mistake for anger if not for the way his voice wobbled at the end with laughter and the beginnings of a smile on his face.

"Just because you did your essay doesn't mean you should do everyone's essays!" I rebuke, weaving in between people as we cross the cafeteria.

"It's not about doing everyone essays, it's about doing it for money! I write your essay, you give me cash. It's not my fault I'm good at writing essays," he says. I wonder if this happens every time he does good on a paper.

"That's illegal," I defend, though my heart isn't in it. I don't get the sense that legality isn't an important factor for him, and that he's probably joking. Probably.

I sit down at our table expecting Connor to follow and continue with some outlandish argument as to why he should sell essays. And he does. But instead of dropping into his usual seat, he sits down next to me and continues with an outlandish argument as to why he should sell essays and doesn't acknowledge the deviation.

"So is pirating movies," he scoffs. I pause for a moment, processing what he said.

"Yes! It is! That's illegal too!" I emphasize.

Connor nods with a smile as if he just won. "Exactly."

"Wh- you can't just excuse something illegal by listing something else illegal," I say, and he waves away my statement, nearly hitting me in the arm. Not that that would have stopped him.

"But have you ever pirated a movie?" he asked, somewhat wildly changing the topic.

I really wish he had not asked this question. Not because I don't want to tell him that, yes, I have pirated a few movies before (Who hasn't?). But because I don't want him to know that he's right. If Connor finds out that he guessed correctly, he's going to take it and run with it.

"Very occasionally," I admit. But instead of gloating, something just behind me catches his eye.

"Alana, have you ever pirated a movie?"

I turn and see Alana standing hesitantly behind me. I attempt a welcoming smile, but it feels weird and forced so I quickly drop it.

"Oh, hello! Um, not that I recall. I try to stay on the positive end of the legal spectrum," she answers, slowly sitting down across from me like yesterday.

"Have you ever done anything illegal?" he pressed. Her face scrunches as she thinks, eyes flickering as if she's making a list.

"I've jaywalked a few times. And once I created a new email address so I could get a free trial on a streaming service," she says, and suddenly I feel like a criminal for not reading the terms and services.

"How about you, Mr. I'm-Too-Good-To-Sell-Essay's?" Connor asks blandly, turning to me.

Before I can answer though, Alana interrupts accusatorily "You're selling essays?"

"He's kidding. Hopefully," I clarify, and Connor responds with a smirk that doesn't support my statement at all. Alana looks like she's going to say something else, probably warn us about the dangers of selling essays, when a passing student knocks Connor's shoulder hard enough that he has to brace himself against me so he doesn't fall over.

"Hey, asshole. Watch it," he calls. The boy turns around, looking pissed off. I pale when I see who it is. I've never spoken to him before, but he's in World Lit with me and Connor. Ty Andrews. I'm pretty sure he's on the wrestling team. He looks like a jock. Meaning he looks like he'd bully me.

Ty doesn't answer, scoffing to his friends and exuding condescension.

This is an interaction that I'm programmed to avoid. Apologize and quietly hate myself. That's how I deal with confrontation. But that isn't how Connor deals with confrontation, as he stands up, fists clenched so hard they shake and a glower on his face.

"I'm fucking talking to you," he growls, and Ty rolls his eyes.

"My bad, I thought your brain was rotten from all those drugs and you were talking to the ghosts you see," he says, voice patronizingly sweet. Alana gasps, having silently watched like me, before slapping a hand over her mouth. Thankfully, Ty doesn't look at her.

"Excuse me?" Connor asks, tension grabbing his shoulders. Ty's antagonizing him, I know he is, so surely Connor knows he is. Not that it matters. It's working.

"Or maybe you were talking to a figment of your imagination. Like the crazy psycho you are." I inhale sharply, digging my nails into my palm and share a terrified look at Alana.

"The hell's your problem?"

"Nothing. I was just minding my business and then you started yelling at me," Ty says, raising his hands defensively with a look of mock-innocence. Connor takes a step forward, looking ready to tear him apart. I grab his wrist, sweaty palms be damned.

"Connor," I warn. He shakes me off with snarl, and I don't try again. Alana doesn't seem to know what to do, but looks ready to say something if I don't.

"Fuck off, Ev. I can handle this guy," he spits.

"Yeah, well, well I don't want you to. He isn't, he isn't worth it," I stammer, tugging at his wrist again. He yanks away, but slowly sits down, etching his glare into Ty.

"Pussy," Ty mutters as he walks away, and I silently plead with Connor to stay seated. He does, but still looks ready to throw a punch.

I don't know what to say. Connor doesn't look like he can say anything without screaming, his chest heaving. It's Alana who saves us from the tension.

"I ran a red light last March," she pipes up, and we both look at her, confused.

"What?"

"That's another illegal thing I've done," she says, fiddling with the strap of her backpack.

"You remember running a red light all the way in March?" I ask, smiling slightly. Connor doesn't say anything, but he looks less murderous.

"I told you, I try to stay on the right side of the law!" she laughs, and if I try hard enough I can ignore the stone lodged in my gut and the feeling of a target on Connor's back.


	6. Chapter 6: "The Strangest Place"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: mentions of a school shooting

**Friday, October 5th**

Chatter packs the room, not all of it related to the topic Mr. Abdul had given us. Which was to be expected when you give a bunch of teenagers 20 minutes to talk. We had been told to turn to our partners and each think of one event that was regressive for literature and one event that was progressive and explain why.

"The burning of the Library of Alexandria," Connor says. I nod in agreement, absentmindedly scratching my pencil on my paper. 

"Definitely, definitely." 

"Because a bunch of information got burned and destroyed and lost and stuff," he elaborates, chin propped up in the palm of his hand.

"Yeah," I sigh. World Lit is normally the highlight of my day, but today is one of those days where I feel on edge for no reason. I don't necessarily want to go home. There is nothing waiting for me there. 

But that didn't mean I have to make Connor to deal with me. It isn't his fault. So I sit for a second, mentally combing through historical tragedies to find a suitable answer.

"The Holocaust probably," I supply, and Connor nods, clearly more into the discussion than I am. 

"Because they destroyed all of the books by Jewish people and that had information that they wanted censored?" he asks. I smile tiredly, thankful that he explained it for me. 

"Exactly," I say, rubbing exhaustion from my eyes. 

"Okay, and then we say an event that was progressive for literature," Connor says, clearly wanting me to go first.

"Yep," I answer. Today is not the day for me to be wracking my brain. But he stays silent, waiting for me to say something.

"So what was an event that was progressive for literature?" I ask, and he rolls his eyes.

"I just went, it's your turn."

"I- I hate you. Okay, uh. Maybe... the invention of the printing press?" I answer. Even to me it sounds mediocre, but I'm counting on Connor to just go with it.

"That doesn't count, because you can say the invention of anything and say that it progressed society and therefore literature," he says, letting me down. 

"Okay, well then you think of something!" I complain, and he glares at me, unimpressed. I ignore him, choosing instead to stare at my lap and pick at my nails.

"Um. William Shakespea-" he starts, before being cut off by an awful screeching noise. A red light on the ceiling blinks, and everyone ducks and covers their ears. A monotone automated voice blares from the ceiling

_"Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter."_

Before I even register what's going on, my hand's in my pocket and my phone is off. All trace of my lethargy from earlier is gone.

"What?" I faintly hear Connor ask. The blood's drained from my face, and I frantically remind myself that it's just a drill. Even though drills never involve this awful alarm and warning. But when I look at Mr. Abdul, he looks just as frightened as the rest of us.

"Is this a drill?" someone asks, and we all look to Mr. Abdul, praying that he'll tell us that it's not real. 

"If it is, they didn't tell me," he says, obviously trying to keep his cool for our sake. That doesn't mask the fear in his eyes and uncertainty in his face.

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

The lights get shut off, and I'm holding the edge of my desk with an iron grip. 

"It's fine, Ev. We're gonna be okay. It's just a drill," Connor assures, but, like Mr. Abdul, his voice is wavering.

"You don't know that," I whisper, eyes glued to the door, expecting someone to barge in and mow us all down with a semi-automatic any second down. I can feel my heartrate picking up and desperately don't want to have a panic attack now of all times.

"Come on, move, move. You know what to do," Mr. Abdul commands lowly, and Connor wrenches my hands off my desk and drags me to the corner of the room where everyone is huddled. Luckily, he sits us at the edge of the crowd. 

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

"Connor," I mutter, voice barely a breath. The alarm keeps screeching, grating away at my ears and I want to rip it from the ceiling. My foot is tapping so fast that it aches, and my hands are shaking.

"It's just a drill," he whispers, mouth next to my ear so he's as quiet as possible. He's trembling too.

"I, okay, but what if it's not, what if this is it," I stammer. I haven't even spoken to my mom since Wednesday. My last words to her are going to be an unenthusiastic 'have a good day'. I wonder if she knows about this yet.

"We're gonna be okay," he repeats. We're not.

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

The alert is barely audible above the blood roaring in my ears. My entire life I've silently gone through the drills, but never imagined it'd happen to me. The threat always seemed far off, distant. Now it's in the halls of my school, with a gun. 

"Hey, breathe. Passing out isn't going to help anything," Connor whispers, as if that's going to help anything. As if I don't know that.

"I-I know that, I know, I can't. I-" I haltingly stutter, my hands clutching at the hem of my shirt. The siren is still screeching. It feels like it's been blaring for hours. 

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

"Can you shut up? We're in a fucking code red," someone whisper-shouts across the room at me, and I flinch, curling into myself. Red fills the room, and then it's dark again, and then red, and I can't breathe. I can't.

"Mr. Andrews, language. Be respectful," Mr. Abdul quietly scolds.

"Go fuck yourself Ty," Connor hisses, leaning across me. The sleeves of his hoodie brush across my cheek, and without looking up, I assume he's flipping off Ty.

"Mr. Murphy." 

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

Over the awful sound of the siren, pounding footsteps could be heard squeaking down the hallway. Everyone tenses. I faintly hear someone's muffled sobs.

Connor grabs my arm, a desperation to his movements that makes me whip my head. His fingers pull at my cast, and softly I cry out. I'm met with 20 angry shushes. My head pounds and blush eats away at my face.

"Sorry," Connor whispers. The footsteps have receded. They're gone. We're still not safe.

I shrug and offer him a shaky smile. Slowly, slowly, my hand creeps over and grabs his arm. He flinches before scooting closer to me and I cling to him. I hold his arm to my chest as if it could stop how hard I'm breathing. 

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

"Are you okay?" he murmurs, warm breath tickling my neck. 

"No, how could I be?" The shrieking of the alarm is drilling a hole into my brain, nails on chalkboard and I want to scream. Make it stop. Make it stop.

"Sorry." He tries to pull back, but I tighten my grip on his arm, scared that if I let go everything will go to shit. As long as I'm holding onto him, it's going to be okay. Because I have an anchor, a rock. Something that's grounding me, preventing my lifeboat from drifting off into the stormy night.

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

"Are you okay?" I ask him, and as Connor looks at me, I can finally see the raw terror in his eyes. The conflict he's feeling is apparent, and he rocks himself back and forth before breathing out an answer.

"I- I just. I'm worried."

"About anything in particular?" I ask. His body is as tense as a tuned violin, and he's shaking even more than I am. Thank God the rest of the class is too focused on themselves to pay attention to us.  
  
" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

"I'm worried about Zoe. She's at lunch right now, and it's not like you can just lock the cafeteria doors, y'know? They don't... they don't have doors. And I know she likes to sit in the courtyard for lunch so I just..." His voice trails pitifully, sounding lost. 

I had forgotten about Zoe. He must be worried sick. I don't have anyone to worry over but myself, as Jared had left last period for an optometrist appointment. I wonder if he knows about the situation yet. I wonder if he's worried about me.

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

"I get it," I whisper, and receive an unexpected glare.

"You don't. You don't have a sibling, you don't get it," he retorts. He's right, of course. 

"I don't. But I get what it's like to be worried about someone and not being able to check on them or know if they're safe or anything," I reassure him. It doesn't work, and he still looks distraught.

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

Connor shifts beside me, and I see his phone light up. No. No, no. I curl my fingers around his rest, pleading him to stop. He just wrenches his hand away.

"Mr. Murphy. Your phone should be off," Mr. Abdul hisses from across the room.

"I'm checking on my sister. I'll be quick, I promise. Please," Connor begs, and Mr. Abdul softens. He must have a sibling. 

"Hurry."

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

From the corner of my eye, I see Connor typing out a message. His hands are shaking so hard that he keeps misspelling. When he puts his phone back in his pocket, he leans against me.

"We could die here," I murmur. If a bullet doesn't kill me, then the speed at which my hearts racing or lack of oxygen will.

"We won't die. It's fine," he repeats. He's probably tired of saying it. I know I'm tired of hearing it. 

"This is too long to be a drill, Con. We're going to die," I insist. I don't know how long it's been but it feels like years. Too long is all I know. Too long to be safe. Too long to walk out of this alive. 

" _Code red. Please lock all doors, turn off all lights, and find shelter._ "

The shrieking of the alarm stops, and it's so much worse. Any second now the silence could be shattered by gunfire. I bury my head in my arms, which are still wrapped around Connor's. I miss the alarm. 

The alarm was a constant reminder that nothing was okay, but it covered up the sounds of everything being worse.

"Evan?" he mumbles. 

"Yeah?"

"Remember Monday when I called you so you could help me with my environmental science homework?" he asks. Of course I do. That was the highlight of my day. Week, month, fuck, that was the best moment of my life. We'd called for hours.

The voice has stopped too. But the light continues flashing, and I feel less safe than before, which I thought was impossible. 

"Yeah," I reply. I can hear him swallow hard, feel his Adams apple bop flush across my neck as we press against each other to prevent the sound from travelling.

"I knew how to do it. I actually already did some of it in class. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you," he admits. 

And. Well. I don't know what to say. No one had ever gone to that length just to talk to me. 

But what really got me was that that was something that I'd do. Make up a reason to talk to someone because they intimidate me and I don't want to admit that I want to talk to them without a reason because that is a bold move. And Evan Hansen is not bold.

And it scares me that Connor did that. Because what is coming more and more apparent is the fact that the two of us are very alike. And him being intimidated by _me_? That blew my mind and scared me in all the ways I was familiar with.

"You could have just asked," I whisper. I don't want him to be scared of talking to me. We'll never get anywhere if he thinks he can't talk to me just to talk to me. 

"I was nervous," he says defensively yet casually, as if the idea of _Evan Hansen_ making him nervous isn't absolutely absurd. 

"Next time, just ask. It's not like I'm ever doing anything," I say, huffing a quiet laugh. 

The red flashing stops. The tension in the room is palpable, and the room sharply inhales as it waits. Is it over? Do I dare believe that we're safe? Or is this a trick to get our guard down and lure us out of our hiding spots?

Without the red light and panic-inducing sounds, the classroom feels bigger. Less crowded. More terrifying. The intercom comes to life with a crackle.

"Students and faculty, we are so sorry. There was a misunderstanding on campus, but everything has been sorted out. You are not in danger. Everything is fine. Once again, we are so sorry for the interruption and panic. Please continue with your classes, and have a wonderful Friday."

The clicking off of the intercom cuts the taut string that had been holding us all together. Connor and I sag against each other, and my death grip on his arm releases. 

It's over.

"It wasn't real," I sigh, voice shaking as air gets into my lungs for what feels like the first time since the alarm went off. 

"I told you you were gonna be fine," Connor mumbles. He pulls his arm away, and my fingers are stiff and sore from how hard I was holding onto him. While hushed voices flood the room, I watch him pull out his phone, brows drawn. Zoe never responded to him.

"She probably had her phone off," I tell him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He gives me a tight-lipped smile. 

"S'not a big deal. I wouldn't blame her if she ignored me. I'd bet money that she either thought I was the reason we were on lockdown or she was crossing her fingers that I got shot."

I didn't know what to say, so I just shook my head. Nothing I say will make a difference. It's not like I know Zoe, or know what she would say. I can't help.

Mr. Abdul stood up and quietly ushers us back to our seats. I stand and stretch, sore from having sat in such a hunched position for so long. I'm already sitting back in my seat before I realize that Connor's still against the wall, staring blankly at his phone.

Students shuffle past him, and slowly he clambers to his feet. I watch him weave his way back to our table, eyes downcast. I don't know how to make it better. 

Ty walks past him right as Connor puts his hand on the back of his chair, and Ty stares at me and mutters something under his breath as he walks by. I can't hear what he says, but evidently Connor can, as he looks back at me wildly and lunges at him.

I scarcely have time to grab his hoodie. Ty just ignores Connor, who's seething next to me.

"What was that?" I ask, voice hoarse from speaking above a whisper for the first time in too long. 

"Nothing," he dismisses, scowling at the back of Ty's head. 

"What did he say?" I press, trying to get an answer. But Connor doesn't relent.

"It was nothing."

We don't talk until after Mr. Abdul clears his throat, and the muted whispering ceases. His normal composure is shaken, and he looks unnerved. 

"I know that was... frightening, to say the least, but please return to your discussions," he requests, before collapsing into his chair, rubbing his face. He looks years older. This must have been hard on him too. 

Hesitantly, conversation resumes. I want to get past this horrible silence between us, so I clear my throat.

"You, you were saying something about Shakespeare," I prompt Connor, and he blinks blearily for a second before numbly nodding. 

"Oh, yeah. Uh. Shakespeare being born was probably a big thing for literature because he came up with a bunch of new words and phrases," he explains. His enthusiasm from earlier is nowhere to be seen, replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion. 

"Yeah." Unlike earlier, he doesn't urge me to answer. We stare at the table in silence as words swirl in the air around us. I still can't get past the feeling that I thought I was going to die. 

"Wait, hold on," Connor bursts out, reaching out for and digging around his bag. He surfaces with a Sharpie in his hand.

"Give me your cast," he commands triumphantly, his old self emerging.

"What?" 

"Just-" he doesn't elaborate, just grabs my cast, gentler than he had earlier. A small grin graces his lips as he scrawls his name across the length of my cast, taking up the entire side.

"I realized during the drill that I had never signed it," he explains as he caps the marker.

"Oh." 

I stare at the name on my cast for the rest of the period. I don't know what I say when class ends and Connor walks away. The day passes in a blur, and I think I do my homework when I get home. I don't know anything for sure until I heard the front door slam open. 

I trudge down the stairs, stopping most of the way down and watch Mom scramble around. She's never not in a hurry. 

"Mom," I call out, and she whirls around, a tired smile breaking across her face.

"Hi sweetie! I have to leave for class in a few minutes, but there's money in the kitchen. I went to the store yesterday, so you should be able to find something if you don't want to deal with the delivery, but you really should start doing that. Anyways, I heard about the code red today, are you okay? That must have been scary," she rambles.

"Yeah. Um. I have a friend," I say, and she pauses. Her smile is more surprised this time.

"What? Honey, that's amazing! What's their name?" Mom asks, her enthusiasm overwhelming.

"Connor," I answer, holding out my cast to prove that, yes, someone does want to be around me.

"Oh, that's fantastic! When did you guys meet?" she continues. I wonder how long she's gonna play 20 questions, considering she just said that she had to leave. Apparently Evan having a friend is enough of an occasion to warrant lateness.

"We've always gone to the same school, but we only started talking like a month ago."

Her smile melts into something a little more hurt. "A month?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well that's quite a while, isn't it?" Mom asks, and I shrug. 

"I dunno."

"Okay. Well, I'll be back by 11. Please eat something. I love you," she instructs, grabbing her keys.

"I love you too," I repeat, and she flashes me another strained smile before the door closes behind her. But she leaves behind tension in the air. Something I can't seem to escape today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please i'm literally going to die, all of your incredibly amazingly stupidly kind comments are going to kill me


	7. Chapter 7: "Only Way I Know How To"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: talk of homophobia, alluding to the f-slur

**Wednesday, October 10th**

Usually, after I fight my way through the crowd to reach World Lit, I'm greeted with Connor sitting at our table and complaining about how I take too long to get to class (Which is not fair at all, seeing as the science wing is right under the literature wing, but the social studies wing is on the other side of the performing arts wing so he has less ground to cover). 

But today, his desk is empty. For a moment, I'm scared he isn't here today. But he would have texted if he wasn't here. Maybe he just didn't care enough to. It's not like the second he knows he's isn't showing up to school he thinks, "Fuck, gotta tell Evan!". 

He's probably just late. That's all. I survey the hallway and make awful eye contact with a passing student, before hearing welcome voices arguing.

"Your monster's been bothering me all class period. Did someone feed him after midnight or something?" Connor asks, sliding past me so I'm in between him and Jared.

"Very funny, Murphy, make fun of the short guy. This is the guy you ditched me for Evan? C'mon, what a downgrade. When you get a new friend they're supposed to be funnier than the old one," Jared jeers, and I feel Connor tense against the back of my shoulder.

"My bad, y'know, I didn't realize that being funny meant making gay jokes and borderline bullying," he spits, and a twisted smile appears on Jared's face, malice in his eye. He's so much more aggressive around Connor. 

"The two things you know the most about! Being gay and bullying." Connor pushes against my rigid shoulder, no doubt to do something he'd hopefully regret, but I push back. 

"Fuck you," he settles to say instead, and I can hear the hostility in his voice. Not that he's ever not been hostile towards Jared, but I feel the fight brewing.

"Jared, stop. It-it's not funny," I chastise feebly, and I sense the disbelief prickling through the pompous façade Jared thinks I can't tell he uses.

"Come on, you've always thought my jokes were funny! Has hanging around Murphy turned you into a buzzkill rather than a stoner?" he asks, and I can smell the smoke emanating from Connors fuming body.

"They... they were never funny. They were kinda hurtful, actually," I admit, and instead of disbelief he looks wounded. I shouldn't have said anything, now I'm the asshole. 

"Well, you always laughed! You, you wouldn't laugh if they weren't funny," Jared scorns, crossing his arms. 

"He laughed so you didn't make fun of him, dickwad," Connor bites. 

Jared looks at me for confirmation, hurt written across his face. 

"I'm gonna be late." I push past Connor and retreat into the classroom. I don't have enough friends to spare to lose Jared.

"What? Hey!" he calls, but I'm gone.

Briefly, I worry that Connor will call me back. Instead, he gives Jared a sarcastic salute before ducking into the room. "Bye, gremlin." The warning bell ringing is enough to drive Jared away, but I know this conversation isn't over.

"Thanks," I say when Connor sits down, chuckling.

"For what?"

"Backing me up like that," I answer, and he shakes his head noncommittedly. 

"No problem, champ," he says, clapping a hand down on my shoulder after quickly glancing over towards Ty's empty seat. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, which Connor mistakes for being aimed towards his odd dad-like motion.

"What? Too much?" he asks. I laugh, and he slides his arm back to his side.

"Okay, what about a fist bump?" Connor holds his fist up with a side smile and a cartoonishly hopeful look on his face.

I huff a laugh, and indulge him, bumping my fist against his. He leans back, smug. As if he accomplished something.

"Dork," I mutter, and Connor gasps as if it isn't true. It totally is. I can't believe I ever thought he was scary. It was bizarre to think that there was a time I intimidated by this boy whose laptop is covered in fruit pun stickers (He showed them to me on FaceTime once. They're hilarious and corny. My favorite is an avocado with a halo that says "holy guacamole"). 

"Well, if I'm a dork then I'm the second biggest dork," he claims, arms crossed. 

"Why?"

"You're first."

"You didn't even have to be second, you could have been so much lower than that," I laugh, and he rolls his eyes.

"Shh," he whispers, amusement lacing his voice. We both jump when Mr. Abdul claps to get everyone's attentions, and Connor smirks at me. "Class is starting. Be a good student and pay attention."

"I don't like you," I say under my breath, and I know I'm not imagining the genuine hurt that flashes across his face.

"I'm, I'm kidding," I insist, and he scoffs.

"Aww, that's so sweet of you."

"Never mind, I'm not kidding," I say, pointedly turning away from him, even as he dramatically gasps. 

"Bully," he says, but I don't reply. I've somehow managed to get a reputation with Mr. Abdul for talking during this class. Which is absolutely insane. My entire life, I've always gotten report card notes that say how quiet I am. And every time I get a warning glare from Mr. Abdul, I internally cringe. There's no way he doesn't hate me. Teachers always hate the talkers.

Thankfully, I don't get reprimanded today. In fact, Connor and I don't even talk until I pull him into the stairwell on our way to the cafeteria.

"Hey," I say anxiously. He glances back at the river of students before looking at me weirdly.

"Hey? Are you gonna murder me?" he asks, and I nervously laugh, pulling at the hem of my shirt.

"No. Uh, I wanted to ask you something but I didn't want to ask at lunch because I don't know if you would be okay with saying it in front of Alana. But, um, what's up with you and Ty?" I ask, not missing the cloud that passes over his face.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem to like each other," I state stupidly.

"Ya think?" Connor huffs, and I flinch, rubbing the plaster on my cast.

"Sorry, I just. The other week he seemed really vicious towards you, and you didn't look surprised or anything, but I never noticed it before, so I don't know if this is some kind of rivalry thing or if you guys are like exes maybe or-"

"Ew, fucking gross! Just because I like boys doesn't mean I've dated every guy who's an asshole to me!" he exclaims, and I feel my cheeks burn. I was screwing everything up.

"No! No, I know! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I was just kind of like thinking out loud, you know, I just, I'm so sorry," I apologize. Connor watches me warily.

"It's fine. I get it," he shrugs.

"So. What's your history with him? If you guys didn't date, then why does he hate you so much?" I ask again.

"So dating me is the only reason he would hate me?" Connor asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I can't tell though. I don't know if he's joking. 

"No! You know what I mean, okay, I'm sorry."

The halls have emptied now. Nothing is distracting me from the war going on inside him. About what, I couldn't even begin to guess. Connor's thrown me for so many loops, I'm starting to think I'll never understand him. 

He sighs. When he looks at me, his eyes are heavy and vulnerable. This is a different kind of scared than last week. This was fear that I couldn't understand, at least yet. A fear he probably wouldn't let me understand.

"I never dated him. Zoe did. They broke up last year," he explains.

"Oh."

"He was always an asshole to me, and I always got a bad vibe from him. Zoe swears up and down that he never hit her or yelled at her, y'know, but if he wanted to, he definitely would have," Connor says, anger seeping into his words. 

"Ty doesn't know I'm bi. Only you and my family know," he suddenly says, and I blink in surprise, both at the fact that I was under the assumption that he was gay and the fact that Connor, who calls his parents by their names just to piss them off, told them something so personal.

"What?" I ask, and he laughs dryly, and without humor.

"Well, don't look too shocked. I told- no, I didn't really _tell_ them. I was in a yelling match with my dad and screamed it through the wall to make him shut the fuck up. Technically, I didn't tell Cynthia or Zoe, but I'd be surprised if the neighbors didn't hear."

"Anyway, he doesn't know I'm bi. But he just loves taunting me about it and shit. Gay, druggie, and crazy are his favorite words to use to describe me. But he always kept civil in front of Zoe. And I never told her because why would she believe her psycho older brother over her boyfriend?" he asks rhetorically, and I hate how despondent he sounds. I wanted to tell him that he wasn't a psycho, that he was the sweetest and most genuine person I'd ever met. But he was still talking.

"So his little jabs were saved for when Zoe wasn't around. Unfortunately, I didn't have the self-control it took to be polite to him back, but it's not like she was surprised that I was a dick."

"When she wasn't around, though, it was open season for him. I don't know why he started hating me. Maybe I was an easy target, maybe Zoe complained about me one too many times, I don't know. He's too much of a coward to do anything physical though. He knows I would beat his ass," he brags, smiling. I laugh, not sure if he's joking. 

"One day he went too far though. I saw him in the hallway and he shoved past me and called me a, uh..." Connor trails off, and it takes a moment for it to click. To understand what Connor was talking about.

"Oh shit," I gasp. I want to punch that son of a bitch. I want to beat him bloody. I want to make him hurt like he so clearly made Connor hurt, even if he won't admit it. He doesn't deserve that, no matter what he says, Connor doesn't deserve to get called that. To get harassed and pushed and bullied. 

"Yeah. That. And I wanted to punch him. I really did, I wanted to break his fucking tiny-ass nose," Connor admits, and despite the unusually hot anger that was pooling in my stomach and squeezing my heart, I laugh. 

"Oh my god," I say, shaking my head. He's right. I try not to be mean to other people, but Ty is the exception. Now that I know how he hurt Connor, I don't feel bad about laughing about him behind his back.

"It is though! It's so small. But, uh, I didn't get a chance to punch him because Zoe appeared out of fucking nowhere. And she was absolutely fuming. I'd never seen her so much as twitch her eyebrow at Ty, but she was swearing even more than I do. He was tripping over himself, trying to claim that I came onto him or something. As if I'd ever want to go anywhere near that meathead."

"And he must have looked guilty enough that she didn't believe him. Or she'd heard me call him an asshole enough times. But she broke up with him on the spot. Then turned to me and asked if I was okay." I almost wish that I hadn't asked. The look on Connor's face when he told me what Ty did was heart-wrenching enough, but what got me was how lost he looks now. The wistful look in his eyes is destroying me. 

"That was the last time she'd ever been anything other than pissed off or apathetic towards me," Connor says, sighing heavily. I wonder if he or Zoe ever mentioned the message he sent during the code red. "But, Ty seemed to think it was my fault that they broke up. Since then it's been shoving and name calling and mocking."

"If he ever gets violent, tell me," I insist. Connor laughs in a way that would have hurt if it weren't for the smile in his eyes.

"What are you gonna do? Politely tell him to stop?"

"I will be very angry and hate him from a distance."

"My hero," he says sarcastically, clasping his hands and grinning. "Come on, I want fries."

We don't talk on the way to the cafeteria. I want to say something, tell Connor how messed up I think it is that Ty treats him like that and that he doesn't deserve it. But I don't. I stare at my shoes and the tiles on the floor.

"Hey! It's Acorn and his boyfriend, Spencer's Gifts!" an unwelcome voice calls out. I look up to see Jared sitting next to Alana at our usual table.

Connor looks livid and guarded, jaw clenched so tight I fear his teeth will crack. It takes me a only a second to realize why he hates Jared's gay jokes so much.

"Jared-" I sigh, ready to be berated. But if it takes his attention off Connor, I'll gladly get called insulting names. 

"And he jumps to his defense in record time! I didn't know you had it in you, Hansen."

"Jared, that's not very nice," Alana chastises. And, incredibly, Jared looks almost apologetic. He grumbles a quiet 'sorry' to her, even though he was insulting us, not Alana. Still. It's an improvement.

"Asshole, why are you even here? I thought you spent lunch sitting in the stairwell and crying over how lonely you are?" Connor asks, and Jared barks a single laugh.

"He's got jokes today! Actually, I was looking for you two but found Alana here instead," he explains, and at the mention of her name, Alana smiles brightly.

"Yeah, we eat lunch with her," I say, and she nods excitedly. 

"That's what you do when you're friends with someone, you hang out with them. Guess that's why I always see Evan desperately trying to get away from you," Connor mocks, and I see Jared's face twist. 

"Connor," I whisper, before Jared can start. He doesn't respond, just glances over at me and continues glaring at Jared.

" _Con._ " After a long-suffering sigh, he relents.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding all that sorry. But, once again, it's an improvement. Jared doesn't seem to think this though, as he starts to say something that isn't exactly kind.

"Jared, show them the pictures you showed me earlier!" Alana interrupts, and just like that, all the fight leaves him.

"W-what?" he stammers, face red. Connor and I share a knowing glance. 

"The makeup!" 

"Kleinman turn into a beauty guru?" Connor asks, and Jared scowls.

"Shut up. It's nothing-" he dismisses bashfully, but Alana shakes her head.

"No it's not! It was really really good!" she insists.

"Jared, you do makeup?" I ask, and Jared looks at me like I'm Connor's co-conspirator and not just asking a question.

"No! I don't! In tech theater we've been going over makeup. Like character makeup, straight makeup, special effects makeup, that shit. And I fucked around with some latex and cream and made Aisha look like a burn victim."

"It looked so realistic! He's incredible!" Alana gushes.

"It wasn't _that_ good," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck and looking shy. In all my years of knowing Jared he has never looked shy. He's barely looked anything but scornful. 

"Aww, he's blushing," Connor says, and meets Jared's spiteful glare with a wicked grin. 

"Show them!" Alana says, and Jared begrudgingly pulls out his phone and brings up a picture. Half of a smiling girls face is covered in black, red, and purple splotches. The skin is shiny in some spots and peeling away in others. Alana wasn't lying. It is very good. 

"That's really good," I admit, and Connor reluctantly nods in agreement.

"It's whatever," Jared shrugs.

"So, are you guys practicing for a show?" Alana asks, resting her chin on her hand and pushing her glasses up her nose. 

"Not really. We might use it in a future show, but for now it's just reviewing what we learned last year," Jared explains. Soon, they've dissolved into a conversation about which plays Jared's teched for and which of those ones Alana has seen. 

"Am I the only one who feels like a third wheel?" Connor asks, leaning over so they don't hear us. I don't think they would anyway. They seem very occupied. 

"I feel like I'm intruding," I agree, and Connor chuckles.

"You think they'd notice if we left?"

"Yes. Nothing gets past Alana," I say. Jared probably wouldn't notice. Even if Alana wasn't here, he wouldn't. But I had the feeling that Alana was hyperaware of what the people around her were doing when she was talking. We had that in common.

So for a few moments, Connor and I just stand there, listening to whatever they're talking about. Until he grabs my arm and drags me away suddenly.

"Fuck this, come get fries with me." 

"Do you only ever get fries?" I ask, giggling. 

"It's the only good thing they serve," he defends. 

"True."

We stand in line while the clatter of the cafeteria fills the space between us. Connor looks like he wants to say something, so I wait for him.

"Hey, so, Zoe's going to the mall on Saturday and my parents are forcing me to go with her because they think our relationship is salvageable, and I was thinking it might be more bearable if you went with me?" he asks.

I pause, taken aback. This was the first time anyone had asked me to go somewhere with them. Other than Jared, of course, but he always made sure that I knew he was only asking because his parents forced him.

"Oh! Yeah! D-definitely, yeah," I stumble over my words. Connor seems surprised too. Like he didn't expect me to say yes.

"Cool," he says, nodding to himself, a trace of a smile on his face. Something gave me the feeling that no one had ever asked him to go somewhere either.

Well, we'll just have to try to fix that, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the order of their classes doesn't really make sense but i don't really have anything to reference it off of because i'm in a special program so i take classes that are like grades ahead of me so i don't know what classes normal seniors take so forgive me for that lol


	8. Chapter 8: "World's Expanding"

**Saturday, October 13th**

Slowly, slowly, I had stopped being nervous around Connor. Well, _as_ nervous anyway. But it wasn't him that makes me nervous. It's everything that makes me nervous. 

Right now, however, it is him that's making me nervous. He's gonna be here any minute now and for the first time, we're spending time together, in person, without school as a buffer. What if this display of less-filtered me is what does it? What if it finally makes him realize that I'm a background character and have the personality to match?

Because he's so bright. A star. And it's like he doesn't understand how bright he shines. Connor's funny, and kind, and creative, and smart, and weird. 

And I'm not.

I'm none of those things.

In 4th grade, we all had to go around and say our favorite thing about each of our classmates. When it got to me, everyone said I was quiet. And even then I knew that no one was saying that they liked that I was quiet. That was the only thing they knew about me, because there was nothing else to me. 

And now that it's just going to be him and I, Connor's going to realize that. 

My phone vibrates from my pocket. I lunge for it, hoping that it's Connor and not Jared asking about homework or something.

_Conowo: hey_

_Conowo: we're like 5 minutes away_

_Me: Okay_

Shit. 

Shaking, I creep down the stairs and into the living room. From the couch, I can see the street outside. This way I can watch for Connor without him seeing me and knowing that I've been anxiously waiting. My leg jiggles. Time has never passed so slowly. 

"Hey. How are you?" Mom asks, from behind me and I spin around.

"Wh- Mom. Hi- I. What, what are you doing home?" I ask. She's smiling, but it's strained. Almost a grimace. That's how she's been lately. I don't know why, but I just get the feeling that she's mad at me. I don't know what I did, though.

"Well I figured I'd bag a shift and we could go to Bellhouse today, like I was talking about last week. We haven't done that in a while, huh? And, I heard about these neat scholarship essay contests on NPR the other day and printed some out for you. We should go over them!" she suggests. I feel so bad about what I have to say.

"Oh. Yeah, um. I can't," I decline, gazing back out the window.

"What? You can't? Why not?" Mom asks, sounding a little too surprised. And upset. 

"I'm busy?" I elaborate, unable to keep the hesitance out of my voice. She must think I'm lying now.

"With what? Homework? Are you hanging out with Jared? Or is it that _new_ friend you told me _all_ about?" She sounds accusing, and even more upset. Then I see her glance at my cast.

She's upset that I'm friends with Connor.

No, she can't be. Mom doesn't know anything about him. But she sounded so hurt when I told her that we'd been friends for a month. 

Oh.

She isn't upset that I'm friends with him.

She's upset that I didn't tell her.

"Yeah. I'm, I'm going out with Connor," I whisper, shame tying my tongue.

"You're going out with him?" That didn't come out the way I wanted.

"We're hanging out. His parents are making him go somewhere with his sister and he asked if I wanted to come," I explain.

Mom nods to herself. Puts her hands on her hips. Sighs.

"Well. I'm glad you're putting yourself out there. Those letters to yourself must have really helped, huh?" she asks.

They haven't. The letters have nothing to with it. I haven't even written one since the first day of school. Dr. Sherman says they're 'suggested' instead of required, so I just said that what I wrote sounded fake and forced and didn't help. 

Which was true, but I only told him so I wouldn't have to do it anymore. And I didn't, so now at the beginning of every session we do this 'today _was_ a good day and here's why' thing. I'm not sure if Mom knows though.

"Definitely," I lie. In my peripheral vision, I see car stop next to the sidewalk. "That's them. I gotta go." I reach for the doorknob hoping to escape without Mom being Mom and making it a big deal.

"Have him come over some time! I want to meet him," she says. At least she didn't ask to meet him right now.

"I'll ask." I will not be asking. I will wait until she brings it up again, so I can stretch it out as long as possible. I give her a small wave before scampering out the door.

"Hey," Connor greets when I enter the car. His usual jacket has been replaced with a worn Slipknot shirt and bracelets that line his arms, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Hi. Hel-hello Zoe," I stutter, cursing myself. First impressions have never been my forte.

"Hi Evan," she says, sounding bored. I cringe. Does she hate me?

"Y'know, you don't have to be a bitch," Connor sighs, and Zoe glares at him in the rearview. I wonder if he chose to sit in the back or if she forced him to. Probably the latter.

"I'm not being a bitch. God, can't we just have one nice day?" she complains. 

"Right, because it's my fault Cynthia forced me to be here," Connor scoffs. I'm caught in the middle of a fight and we've barely even left my street. 

"It's your fault that you're being a dick about it."

"Yeah, because everyone's real-" he begins, and I finally try to diffuse the situation. Carefully, I place my hand on top of his. He tenses out of surprise and looks at me, but doesn't pull away. We have a staring contest, a silent argument. Connor looks back at our hands, nose crinkled. At last, he clicks his tongue and the tension in his shoulders releases. 

"Sorry. I am being a dick," he admits. The irritation in Zoe's eyes is taken over by confusion and disbelief. 

"Wow," she deadpans. 

"Shut up," Connor retorts, but instead of aggressive, he just sounds irate.

"Evan, do you charge by the hour?" Zoe asks, and I awkwardly laugh, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

"No, no. I. I'm his friend," I say, and Connor makes a triumphant noise.

"Yeah, I found someone who doesn't treat me like an insane asylum patient. And, surprise surprise, guess what? Turns out when you aren't treated like a criminal you tend not to act like one." Zoe doesn't respond, just rolls her eyes. 

The rest of the drive is silent, and I kind of wish I hadn't agreed to come. I don't know what to do with myself. I wonder if Connor can hear me breathing. 

When we finally get out of the car, Zoe turns to Connor, looking annoyed. I think she's always annoyed when it comes to him. 

"I'm meeting Skylar and Dia. Meet me in the food court in 2 hours. If I see you in passing, I'm gonna ignore you," she says breezily, brushing past him. He gives me an insufferable glance, and I smile despite myself.

"Thank God, because that was my plan," he says, and she pauses.

"Meeting in 2 hours?"

"Ignoring you."

"Fuck you. Don't get abducted," Zoe instructs before walking away, hair forming a curtain as she types on her phone.

"I'll try my hardest," Connor calls after her, and she flips him off.

"Sorry about her," he says, leading me towards a large set of double doors.

"No, it's fine." It wasn't Zoe that bothered me, it was the the enmity between the two that I had to sit through that made me anxious.

"You have siblings right? Step-siblings? Do you hate each other?" Connor asks. I don't remember telling him. I must have though, obviously.

"Well one is a fetus, the other two are 7 and 9, and I have never met any of them. So, no," I explain. He nods, and pushes open the doors. A blast of cool air hits me.

"Ah. Where to?" he asks, and I nervously look around. 

"I don't know. I've never been in a mall before," I admit. I am aware of how pathetic that makes me sound, but honestly, Connor shouldn't be surprised at this point. 

"Never?"

"Nope."

"Okay, well then..." He looks around the surrounded shops. "H&M has polo shirts and I don't think I've ever seen you wear anything but polo shirts so it's a match made in heaven," he jokes, and I roll my eyes. 

"Haha. What about... is there a directory?" I ask, and Connor shrugs.

"Somewhere around here, yeah," he says, and we start wandering around looking for it. I don't know if my perception of what a mall is supposed to look like is warped, but it's a lot bigger than I thought it was. 

We pass a store front that's almost all window, and I pause. 

"What's Box Lunch?" I wonder aloud. Connor looks at it, unfamiliar as I am.

"Well, we'll just have to find out, won't we?" he asks, guiding me into the store.

"You don't know?"

"Listen, I've been here maybe 3 times in my entire life. I don't exactly get out much," he says. The store has shelfs that go to the ceiling, with racks all around.

"Oh, it's like merchandise for a bunch of stuff. Neat," I comment. I look back, and Connor's already wandered off. Of course.

I don't know how much time has passed when I hear him approach where I'm currently being distracted by a large selection of shot glasses.

"Evan," I hear him whisper, and I look over my shoulder before bursting into giggles. He's holding a light blue button up covered in different sprites of Totoro.

"Oh my god, get it," I wheeze, trying to keep my voice down. Something about being in a mall makes me feel like I have to be quiet. Maybe it's the lack of other people in the store.

"No."

"What? Why?" I ask, and Connor stares at me, incredulous. He motions at the shirt frantically as if that explains it.

"It's a shirt with a funky little bear all over it it."

Did he just say 'funky little bear'?

"...what?" 

"What?"

"Did you just call him a 'funky little bear'?" I ask, and he nods, face scrunched. "That's Totoro!" 

"Who?" he asks, and I gape at him.

"You've never watched My Neighbor Totoro?"

"No? What's that?" I know I shouldn't blame him for not knowing who Totoro is, but I can't help but feeling appalled. Maybe having watched all of the Studio Ghibli movies is a byproduct of being alone so often with nothing to do.

"I can't believe you. You should still get the shirt though. It's cute," I say.

Connor stares at me for a second, eyes wide. Numbly, he nods.

"Wait, really?" 

"I mean... sure," he murmurs, giving the shirt a once-over again, this time with a small smile on his face. I snicker to myself, turning back around when something catches my eye on the next display.

"Oh! Look!" I exclaim, picking up a keychain. It had a leaf logo and read 'Nook's Cranny', with a fake key attached.

"It's a Tom Nook keychain!" Connor walks over, looking at the display.

"Like from Animal Crossing?" he asks, and I nod, grinning.

"Yeah. I think I'm gonna get it," I decide. Not wanting Connor to think I've let him off the hook, I pointedly glance at the shirt that he's still holding

"And I'll get the Tortilla shirt," he sighs in defeat, and I frown despite my victory. 

"It's Totoro," I correct him, and he groans as he leads us to the register where a bored girl who looks no older than us stands. 

"The funky little bear guy," Connor mutters, and I would laugh except that the realization that I have to talk to that girl is setting in. But I have to because I don't want Connor thinking I'm pitiful. At least any more than he already does.

So instead of abandoning the keychain and running out of Box Lunch in an almost panic attack, I shakily reach for my wallet. But Connor pushes my hand away dismissively. 

"I'm paying. Duh," he says. Having been raised by a woman who never accepts gifts outside of holidays, it's my instinct to shake my head.

"What? No, no. I have money, I can pay-" I reason, but Connor won't hear it.

"Ev, I dragged you here. It's the least I can do."

I try to protest, but Connor plucks the keychain out of my hand. "Too late," he calls, walking over to the register. I watch him go through the motions with ease, and not shaking and sweating and stuttering like I would be. I feel bad. Awful, even. I need to find a way to pay him back.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that," I say when Connor comes back. He waves it away.

"I wanted to," he claims, dropping the bag into my hand like he didn't just casually do the thing that gives me nightmares and we walk out of the store. 

"Where should we go next?" I ask. Connor looks around for a moment, before his eyes lock on a brick store and a wicked grin crosses his face.

"Have you ever been to Spencer's?" he asks, already heading that way. 

"No," I answer, following him. I feel like I should be worried. But I don't voice this fear, choosing to silently walk behind him. 

When we walk in, it just looks like how I imagine Hot Topic to look. The wall in front of me is covered in a display of graphic t-shirts, and I whistle lowly.

"That's a lot of t-shirts," I say, looking around. Next to it was an equally impressive display of hats.

"Yeah," Connor says, sounding like he's holding back laughter. I'm going to assume that it's not about me because then I'll drive myself crazy trying to establish what I did to make him laugh at me. 

"Are those pride fl- oh my god," I cut myself off. 

I didn't know what to expect or what was going to happen when walking into this store. But staring down an oversized bong figurine never once crossed my mind. 

"What?" Connor asks from where he's inspecting the t-shirts. He turns around to see my terrified expression and starts laughing.

"Is that all weed stuff?" I ask when I notice the various shirts and ashtrays and bags and jars with cannabis leaves all over them.

"Yep. They have more t-shirts towards the back too," he says, still laughing as he looks over a mug that says 'I Wish This Were Crack'. This time it's definitely at me.

"Oh. Cool," I say, trying to regain my composure. 

I wander towards the back of the store, aware that Connor's still snickering to himself. Whatever. I can get over it. Hopefully.

But I don't see the shirts that he's talking about. I turn the corner to find- oh.

Oh my god. 

I can't help the gasp that escapes me, and quickly walk the other direction, only to be confronted by more. 

Frantically, I survey the walls. The entire back of the store. Wall to wall. Floor to ceiling. 

This was a trick. 

I scramble back towards Connor, who's shaking and holding himself up against the wall from how hard he's laughing. My face is absolutely burning.

"Yeah?" he asks when I stare at him mortified, as if he didn't just send me back there knowing full well what I'd encounter.

"Do you find my pain funny?" I ask, voice cracking.

"No. But your face right now? _That's_ funny," Connor says, breaking into laughter all over again. I bump his shoulder, not wanting him to see that his smile is echoing back onto me. I'm still beet red.

"Are you gonna get anything or can we leave?" I ask, fighting the urge to check if the employees are looking at us. Wordlessly, Connor grabs my uninjured wrist and we leave the store. Which is kind of a shame, I wanted to look at those t-shirts. But I refuse to walk into that store again. At least with Connor.

"Have you ever been to Hot Topic?" 

"Of course," I snort. I would never tell Jared about this, they don't need any reason to go after each other, but I will still laugh at it now. Especially after that Spencer's escapade.

"You have?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"No, I'm saying of course you'd want to go to Hot Topic," I clarify, and Connor glares at me.

"You've been hanging around Kleinman too much."

"You're about 10 years too late to come to that conclusion," I say, and he swats my shoulder. 

As we pass stores, presumably on our way to Hot Topic, I see Zoe walking and talking with a few other girls. Connor obviously does too, as he tenses and starts walking faster, tugging at my wrist some more.

The movement must have been too much, as Zoe looks over at us. Her face hardens, but she waves at me. I wave back. Connor doesn't stop walking. We don't speak until we're inside Hot Topic.

"So?" he asks. I look around.

It's pretty similar to Spencer's. I crane my neck to see the back wall, which actually _is_ covered in t-shirts. No surprises this time.

"About what I expected. It's kinda like Spencer's. But without the... uh..." I trail off, face slowly heating up. Damn you, Connor.

"The what?" he asks, faking innocence. His eyes give him away though, a devilish glint betraying him.

"The... rope?" I uncertainly say, and Connor chuckles. 

"You only saw the rope?" I lightly shove him, and he dodges. 

"I saw all of it. All of it," I shudder. I don't think I'll ever trust a store again. But this one seems innocent. I follow Connor towards a display of body jewelry, not wanting to bump into anything unwanted like last time.

"You should get a septum piercing," he suggests.

"Uh, no."

"Eyebrow?" 

"Absolutely not!" I whisper. I know he's just trying to get a rise out of me. It's working, though. I could never get something as out-there as a facial piercing.

"Nipple?" 

I gape, and he sighs dramatically. "Okay, okay," he complains, but he continues spinning the display.

"I've always wanted to get a helix piercing," he muses. It takes me a moment to remember what a helix is. 

"You would look good with a helix piercing," I say, before freezing. My blood stops coursing, and my heart stalls. But he doesn't seem to notice anything, just nodding and eyeing the display, unaware of my predicament.

Because he would look like with a helix piercing. _Really good._

In fact, he would look good without it. He _does_ look good. I'd noticed it before, but I'd always thought of it as his face just having a nice symmetry and structure. Connor was aesthetically pleasing and I enjoyed looking at him, the way that you'd enjoy looking at a nice painting or a scenic view.

But this wasn't that.

This was something different. 

Because a beautiful painting wouldn't make my stomach drop the same way he does. 

But in the middle of a Hot Topic is not the place I want to be thinking about this. So I laugh at the t-shirts with Connor, and ignore it. I choose to focus on the extensive collection of Pocky instead of what I've been suspecting for years. 

"You aren't getting anything?" Connor asks after a while. 

"If I do are you gonna let me pay for it?"

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p'.

"Then I won't get anything."

"Come on, I saw you looking at that Beatles t-shirt," he accuses. 

"Why were you watching me?" I ask, wrinkling my brows. He just smiles. I hadn't even been that obvious. 

"We were literally right next to each other. What size do you want? You gotta tell me because I'll get it for you either way so it might as well be the right size," he insists. We have a staredown.

"Large," I relent. I'm a sucker for an oversized shirt. 

Once again, Connor doesn't let me pay, which annoys me to no end, and doesn't make me deal with the cashier. He ended up getting an American Idiot shirt, so that 'you won't be the only one getting something'. But he definitely just wanted an excuse to get the shirt. 

"So, you listen to the Beatles?" Connor asks as we leave the store. I'm carrying the bags since he paid and it's the very least I can do.

"Yeah," I respond rigidly. He's gonna tease me for listening to such boring music.

"Cool." I wait for more, but he doesn't saying anything else.

"That's it?" I ask, perplexed. No snide comments?

"What?" he asks, just as confused as I am. 

"Well, it's just, Jared says I have the music taste of a pretentious teenager or a single dad," I explain, and he huffs. 

"As a pretentious teenager, I can tell you that he is incorrect. Besides, I wouldn't ever make fun of you for something like that. There isn't even anything to make fun of, it's just music."

Connor isn't Jared. I don't know why it's taking me so long to get used to that fact. Every time I think he's going to say something that I'm used to being told, he completely shocks me. 

"Thank you."

"Come on, let's go get bubble tea," he says, and I don't even bother to ask him what it is yet. Because maybe, slowly, I can trust that he isn't trying to mislead or hurt me. The most he's done is trick me into walking into a sex shop, but that was harmless. Mostly.

He really is my best friend. Which is why when I look over at him, wisps of hair framing his face, profile outlined by the neon lights of Sephora, I push the thought that I'd had in Hot Topic out of my mind. That was a contemplation that could wait for another day.


	9. Chapter 9: "A Secret From Myself"

**Wednesday, October 17th**

The lunch table is uncharacteristically quiet. Neither Connor or I are speaking, and the seats across from us are empty. It's weird. I've gotten so used to Alana and sometimes Jared sitting with us.

Connor groans, and caps his pen. He'd been doodling across my cast for the past 20 minutes, and I'd had to tuck my arm into my chest to stop him from drawing on it while we walked. It's now adorned with flowers and trees and leaves. Which is a shame because I'm getting it off Friday.

"Where d'ya think she is?" he asks, spinning the pen around on the table, barely keeping it from falling onto the floor.

"Hm?" I startle, pulled out of my contemplation. I'd been trying to figure out how many fries I could steal before Connor noticed.

"Alana. She's usually here by now," he says gesturing to the empty seats.

"I don't think she's here today. She sits next to me in Environmental Science but she was absent," I say, reaching for a fry. I'm only met with a feeble swat, meant to tease not fend off.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

We fall back into silence. Someone across the cafeteria laughs loudly.

"Kleinman doesn't usually bother us unless Alana's here, so we have the whole place to ourselves today," Connor comments. Probably just to say something. The silence isn't uncomfortable, just unusual.

"And by place you mean table," I sigh.

"Yep," he says, wringing his hoodie strings. I steal another fry, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fumble for it, cast in the way.

It's from Mom. No surprise there. She's the only person who ever texts me, besides Connor and Jared. And Dad, the 4 times a year he remembers he has another son.

_Mom: Hey honey! I had to take another overnight to cover for someone and I still have class this afternoon, so I won't be back until you've already left for school. I found some more scholarship essays though! I printed and left them on your bed for when you want to look at them. Application deadlines are soon!_

A disappointed noise echoes from deep in my throat. Of course. She either forgot that we had plans, or she didn't care.

"What?" Connor asks, sounding more curious than worried.

"Just my mom. We were supposed to go over scholarship essays or whatever tonight, but she picked up another shift," I explain, trying to keep the dismay out of my voice. It shouldn't bother me as much as it does. I shouldn't be upset because I knew this would happen. It always happens.

"Oh. What are your plans for college? You look like someone who's extensively planned everything they do past high school," Connor asks. I'm glad for the change of subject, even if it still reminds me of my mom.

"Funny. Um, I want to get into University of Rochester. That's my ideal school. It has a terrific environmental science program. But it's so expensive, even if I commute, and the acceptance rate isn't that high. So I might just end up going to Nazareth or Rochester Institute. Or even go to Monroe for a year to get credit," I detail. Connor just snickers.

"I was right. You have extensively planned what you do past college. It's just dismal."

"Yeah," I whisper. It just feels so hard to genuinely think that I'm going to succeed after this year. "What about you? What are your plans for college? Assuming you go," I ask.

"Oh, so you don't think I'd make it into college?"

"No! N-No! Not at all, that's not what I'm saying," I correct. Fuck. I can't do anything today. Or ever, really.

"I'm kidding," Connor says with a dry smile. He doesn't look like he's kidding.

"Oh," I whisper. He sighs.

"I dunno. I haven't really thought of it all that much, y'know? It's not that I don't want to, or I don't care what about my future or anything. But every time I try to imagine what life will be like after high school, it feels forced and fake. I just don't think I'll make it to that point," he admits.

I feel horrible now. At least I had plans and plan B's and plan C's and a whole entire alphabet of plans. Who was I to complain about being worried I won't thrive after high school when I'm at least confident enough that I looked into colleges in the first place.

"Oh. Wow. I'm so sorry." He shrugs, like it's not a big deal.

"It's not your fault. I'm... y'know, I'm getting there, I guess. To the point where I'm okay with letting myself think past the present."

"But that wasn't your question. You didn't want to know about how depressed I am, you wanted to know what college I wanted to go to," he laughs, but it sounds strained and defeated. "I don't know. I've never really looked into colleges specifically. Never researched graduation rates and requirements and courses and that shit. I've never really done bad in school, except for my regents last year. So I might get accepted into something, I don't know."

"What do you want to major in?" I ask. That's something positive to talk about, right?

"English," Connor responds, a small but genuine smile on his face. Bingo.

"Of course," I snort and shake my head.

"Okay, tree boy. Lemme guess, you want to major in environmental science? Save the rainforests? Stop global warming?" he shoots back, and I wish that I could knock the smirk off his face by saying no.

"Yes," I say ashamedly after a 10 second battle of wills. He nods in satisfaction.

"Good for you," he says, not a single trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"I want to be known as the scientist who stopped the world from dying." I want to be known. To be remembered, to have proof that I was here and I lived and I helped people.

Unforgettable. That's what I want to be.

I want to justify the space that I have taken in this world, and prove that I did something good. That I've successfully undone the mess that's been caused.

I've never really believed that anyone has a set purpose in life. But I'm looking for a reason. Something to fight that feeling that I'll never do anything, never amount to anything. Something that I can point to when I'm feeling worthless and say, "Look at all the good I did."

"Those are some ambitious goals, Ev," Connor admits, looking mildly impressed. As if he really believes that I could do it.

"I guess, yeah. I know I'm not gonna really do anything, or go anywhere. It's just something to think about so I can pretend it's gonna get better," I chuckle sadly, and it comes out self-deprecating and depressed. Because that's just what this conversation needs. More depression.

"I get it. And I don't doubt that you're gonna be some famous scientist who saves the planet," he says casually, reaching for the pen and flicking it again, as if he didn't just upend my world with a single sentence. No one had ever believed in me in such an offhand way. Mom was always just so serious about it, and Jared never had anything positive to say.

"Really?" I ask. Connor nods, and the pen flies into my lap. I wordlessly drop it back into his hand and he returns to spinning it around on the table, his hands forming a cage to protect the floor from getting hit.

"One day I'm gonna be able to say that I knew Evan Hansen when he was still in high school," he says, nudging my shoulder.

"Evan Hansen's best friend. What a title to brag about," I laugh, wryly.

Connor whirls the pen again, but let's it spin to a stop. He stares at it, gnawing his lip. Neither of us say anything.

"You think we'll still be friends when we're in college?" he asks.

"Maybe. I hope so."

"I'm just that fucking great that you'd still want to be around me in a years time?" He looks at me and grins.

"Of course," I say dramatically. "Who knows though? We might end up hating each other when we get to college."

"What are the odds we even go to the same college though? Because, really, would we ever even talk after that if we don't? Everyone says you never stay with your high school friends, y'know," Connor adds, back to twirling the pen.

"We could be an exception," I say. Maybe it was the fact that Connor was my first real friend, but I didn't want to lose him. Even if it was unrealistic that we'd never fall out of touch, I desperately wanted him to always be there.

"Unless we have some horrible fight right before college and never speak again," he muses, and I laugh.

"Then let's hope that doesn't happen."

Someone steps into our line of view, and I perk up, hoping it's Jared, which is weird.

It's not.

"How's the coke business? You know, you'll lose money if you keep accepting blowjobs from male prostitutes as payment," Ty asks, his friends chortling and whooping behind him. Connor tenses, and I see him grip the pen so hard his knuckles turn white.

"How'd you find out about that? You smell my dick on your daddy's breath last night?" he retorts, and the smirk drops off Ty's face and is replaced with a murderous sneer. He steps forward, hands clenched into fists.

Thankfully, his friend steps in and stops him from getting violent.

"Come on. Leave the fairy and his boyfriend be," he suggests, glaring at us. I don't know why, Ty was the one about to throw a punch.

But thankfully Ty walks away after giving us a very angry middle finger which Connor eagerly returns.

Once they're gonna though, his passive-aggressiveness hardens into pure aggressiveness, and I can see his chest heaving. He's holding onto the damn pen so hard that I'm waiting for it to snap and spurt ink everywhere.

"Are you okay?" I ask, dumbly. Of course he's not okay. 

Instead of pointing out that I asked the blatantly obvious, he rubs his eyes with the heels of his palm. The fights left him but he's still shaking in rage. 

"I'm fine," he insists, thought he doesn't sound fine in the slightest.

"You don't look fine! He almost hit you!" I counter. Connor shrugs half-heartedly, a tired smile not quiet reaching his eyes. The smoldering anger is disappearing, leaving a broken, exhausted boy in it's wake.

"I'm not worried about that. It's just..." he trails off, glaring at Ty from across the room, before turning back to me. The fire's back.

"He brought you into it. You didn't fucking do anything. I don't give a shit what the fuck he calls me. But you, you didn't do anything."

I don't get why Connor's so upset by an offhand comment directed toward me, not when Ty calls him so much worse on the daily. 

Especially when Ty seemed so ready to get violent.

"Has he ever hit you?" I ask. The thought ties my stomach into knots, a heavy sick feeling sitting like a stone in my chest. Why would someone want to hit Connor?

"Jesus Christ, you sound like you're asking if my dad beats me," he says, huffing a dry laugh. I don't smile though.

"Has Ty ever hit you?" I repeat firmly. I had already told him to tell me if Ty got violent, but God knows that Con would try to handle it on his own. 

"No. He's not that stupid, he knows I could hospitalize him if I wanted," he says. I laugh, relieved. He's joking again.

"I'm serious. I had gym with him last year, he knows I work out," Connor clarifies. Not joking. 

"Y-you work out?" I ask. Fuck, he's gonna notice that I stuttered. Everything that I'd been shoving into the back of my mind since Saturday started pushing back.

"Yeah," he says, clicking the pen. I stare at him, waiting for him to explain further.

"What?" Connor asks when he catches my confused eye.

"You're not gonna elaborate?"

"Oh. Well, uh, yeah. My dad has some old workout equipment in the basement. Some weights, chest press, treadmill, and some yoga thingy that Cynthia got and used like 5 times. That kind of stuff. It's not exactly a Planet Fitness. And a few years ago I started working out to 'channel my self destructive energy into something productive'. It wasn't my idea, by the way. It was Cynthia's," he explains.

"Did it work? Sorry, that's stupid. Obviously it worked," I apologize, but he shakes his head.

"No. It did not. Still as self-destructive as always. But I didn't stop because I liked working out. It made me feel productive, like I was doing something. So on days when I felt shitty, I worked out so I could feel like I did _something_. Even if it was just lift weights for a half hour. And it distracted me from the self-destructiveness. And eventually, I started doing it regularly"

"So it did work?" I ask.

"N..." He starts to deny it, but cocks his head. "Well, I guess. Yeah."

"So, you're like absolutely shredded?" I ask jokingly, and he snorts. "Are you hiding bulging biceps under your hoodie?"

"I wish," he sighs. The pen goes flying across the table and hits the floor right as the bell rings.

"Good luck with Kleinman," Connor says as he turns toward the social studies wing with a small wave, which I return. 

Health is just as slow as usual, but Jared has enough common sense to not to try to talk to me while Coach is talking. The uneventful nature of the class allowed me to ponder on something I had been running from for longer than I had ever consciously realized.

Connor said he worked out. And he was my friend. My best friend. We were nothing more.

Yet I couldn't stop picturing him lifting some big-ass dumb bell, muscles flexing, face red, sweat creeping down his forehead, and the _sounds-_

No. No, I'm not doing this. Not when it's _Connor_ , and I'm in the middle of class, and Jared's right next to me. And I'm not gay. I couldn't be. Jared never let's me forget my short-lived crush on Zoe in sophomore year. 

But. No heterosexual guy would be trying this hard to not think of his best friend working out in fear of getting a boner in the middle of class. 

And this isn't the huge shock it should be. Ever since I could remember, I got nervous walking down the underwear aisle in stores, refusing to look up from the floor. Even as a kid who didn't know what the word 'gay' meant, I knew it was different and I shouldn't talk about it.

I hear Jared snicker from the desk beside me, and I briefly worry that he can somehow read my mind and is going to tease me for the rest of my life about how I'm in love with Connor.

The thing is though, I'm not. It's not just Connor that makes my stomach give way and drop below my knees. And it's not just guys. But if I acknowledge it, say the word I'm thinking, then there isn't any going back. I'll be more of an outcast than I already am. I'll be permanently labeling myself as an other.

And I can't just tell Connor. Especially because he thinks I'm straight, and it's still kinda soon since after he told me he wasn't. He's going to think that he caused me to realize I'm... not. Scratch that. He's going to _know_ that he caused it. Because as embarrassing as it is to admit it, he did. And then he'll make a joke about him being my sexual awakening and I'll be just awkward enough for him to realize that he was right.

But it feels like betrayal if I don't tell him. Connor trusted me, and I'm not trusting him back. It's selfish is what it is. At the very core of my inaction is greed. Because I can't lose him, and I can't make things awkward.

No matter what I do now, though, it will be awkward. Once you accidentally have a sexual thought about someone, you can't exactly look them in the eye and pretend you didn't just get hard to the thought of them working out.

"Hey, Acorn. Class is over," Jared says, slinging his bag over his shoulders. I flinch, and look around at the emptying classroom. 

"Oh. Yeah, sorry," I laugh awkwardly, brushing past him before he can make a joke at my expense. I don't run into Connor as I weave my way to the buses. Everyone's watching me. They see me sweating and breathing too heavily and tripping over my own feet. But they look away before I can catch them. I feel them. Eyes all over me.

They know. They know what I am. A freak. An outlier. Different. 

I duck into my seat on the bus, curling into myself, pressed against the wall even though bolts are digging into my back. My pulse is racing, racing, racing. 

My hands reach for something to grip, something to keep me tethered, and my fingers wrap around the keychain Connor bought for me at Box Lunch. They're sore from how hard I'm holding on.

I don't even know what part I'm panicking about. The fact that I had almost explicit thoughts about my best friend, the fact that I didn't even take notes in Health, or the fact that I'm...

I can't say it. 

That makes it real.

But no matter how unreal I want it to be, I feel like I should tell Connor. He would understand. And it's only fair.

Friday. I'll tell him Friday so I can have tomorrow to mentally prepare.

On Friday I'll tell Connor that I'm bisexual.


End file.
